


Overwatch Beta Timeline: Lena and Amèlie

by Altifand



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A lot of silent parts. A Lot., Friends to Lovers, Lovers To Enemies, Multi, Overwatch!Amelie, Past Relationship(s), Revenge, Slow Burn, Talon!Tracer, Torture, detective stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altifand/pseuds/Altifand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelie Lacroix is one beat person. First her lover, then her husband Gerard. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? Now on the hunt for the murderer of Gerard, she has a chance to let him lay at peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Story About A Detective

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: this is my first fic, so actually ye roast me. Some yall already gave the 2cents. Thanks!

The wind blew softly along as the detective sat in a window. Her hair hanging off of her back. She was motionless, making it seem as though she were just taking in the scenery.

Down four or five blocks away however was the view that brought her about. She had her eyes on this truck for a day now and was ready to pounce on it. When the guards began moving the truck she prepared herself. Ironing her will.

She set a small explosive to go off in a dumpster to bring three of the guards away. Her timing had to be perfect. They had their eyes peeled to every direction, except up. Slowly but surely the detective slipped down a line onto the top of the truck. Though she preferred less direct approaches to most things, she could still handle this squirt squad.

She lowers herself onto the truck, reveals a small device that magnetizes itself to the top of the truck. The little device uses hardlight to cut a small hole in the metal, enough for our detective to slip inside and out unnoticed. The contents of the case were uninteresting to say the least, but she needed it for the hunt she was after. Some files, mentions of a Sombra, Ana Amari. None of it was useful for now, she might even pinch herself later for ignoring the Sombra files, but that'll be later.

'AHA,' she thought to herself. The file she was interested in: Lacroix

She grabs the file and squirrels it away in her RAF jacket and runs. These light headed grunts didn't even realise what they'd lost. The detective was already on the roof when they decided to keep moving.

Opening her target files revealed a face and a name. She remembers the face, painful memory to be sure, but one she'd at one time loved. The report came back sloppily written and missing some details, but it was enough to get the detective started.

She reads full report over:

\-----

'Snuck into the safe house and hid the explosives there, Gonzales provided me with enough to blow it to smithereens, had to distract the wife so no collateral damage.

The husband had called her there for something or other, never liked him and I think neither did she.

The bombs went off at 2034pm and left nothing behind.

End of report', she closes the file to mull it over.

\-----

'Now. It'd seem the assassin knows me and Gèrard somehow, closely. Not surprising after all the treachery at Swiss HQ there was bound to be more moles around.' The detective thought.

After a moment she smacks her lips, thirsty, she realises she's hungry too. Scanning her FieldKit to find a nearby restaurant or 24hr store. Marks a little gas station and moves on, disarming herself along the way, conceal weapons, holster grapple. All things she's used to by now, to be armed from head to toe while keeping low profile.

Once in the gas station she makes a beeline to the 'food' abandoning taste for quantity.

Holding her water and burritos In line gives her the time to think on the file.

'Gonzales is one name to remember, they armed the assassin with the means to kill Gèrard, they'll know exactly who had done the deed', she decides. Thinking it all over with a burrito and energy drink.

Her FieldKit sheds some light on Gonzales, a quartermaster in the London branch of talon.  So, back to that dumpster of a city. The detective makes her call, and quickly is answered by Minerva, the AI assisting her in this investigation.

"Minerva, if you could book me a flight to London please." She asks politely.

"Early mourning trip, detective? Unlike you, the anniversary is next month." a cold, almost sinister voice answered.

"Not mourning, just have a lead on the killer now.", she answers, stroking the RAF patch on her jacket. "Just please put me through, thank you." 

"Done, flight is at 0730. Don't be late." commanded the AI

With a click the detectives FieldKit ends the call.

'Maybe I'll get a little sleep until then,' she thinks as her info is sent though her FieldKit. Her report from the files written up, prim and proper. Her orders and flight info loaded on.

Deciding to skip the nap she sets right out for business, ready to take talon with her bare fists! 

\-----

Paris, France. 9 years ago.

The wedding was rushed, but then, so was the whole thing. Amèlie Renaud sat in her little stool prim, proper, and ready to please a crowd. 

She has know her fiance for five months. Enough time to her to get struck with some love, and want to be married. Certainly this is how quick it SHOULD be right? The two love each other there's no overstepped boundaries, respect. All things one could need in a relationship.

But something felt just a bit odd about the whole thing. Something was glaring Amèlie in the face but she couldn't for the life of her figure it out.

Nevertheless. This is her Big Day, nothing was going to ruin it. Nothing in every sense of the word.

She's walking down the aisle. Everything is going smoothly. Smiles here and there. Lovely. Crying mother. Check. Crying father's. Bonus check. 

And there he was. A living marble statue, tall and proud.

She was content, all previous worries gone and checked out of the building. Thanks to Gerard.

A shattering glass made a small inconvenience for her stroll down to the alter, but she would not be deterred.

A scream? People get excited about these wedding things don't they?

'Honestly we could have done a court marriage inst-', her thought cut off by her beautiful dress turning red and Gèrard looking as if a demon had taken his place.

Amèlie Lacroix had been shot.

'If one thing were to ruin the big day it'd better be something like this,' She silently thought. Examining quickly, she realises, 'this is a needle. Syringe? Doesn't matter, it's in me and empty now,' She continues, hearing more screams and even more shattered glass.

"Grab the woman!" one of the men in black yelled. Amèlie was slouched on the floor facing the entrance now.

She sees a small bolt of navy blue, fast but visible, Gèrard? 'He's gotten skinnier in the last 9.5 seconds' amelie laughs at herself, the drugs obviously taking effect.

"OXTON! For God's sake lead them out of here, I'll jump in when she's safe," Gèrard cried, panic oozing from him.

"Gotcha! You got the bird, I got the baddies!" Who could that-

\------

The detective is groggy and irritated and realises, 'I'm already on the plane.'

She did it again, she started thinking too much. Setting herself to auto pilot, and floating in the clouds. Her train of thought making it back to her lover and her husband.

She doesn't do it often but when she does, it's obvious, minutes to hours will have passed. She'll have gotten at least half of the days tasks done to her usual degree of perfection without noticing.

Now she's on a plane with her equipment stowed but ready.

'How much did I give in bribes this time,' she wondered referring to her hidden equipment.

Only 10,000€? Surprising, last time it was 5 times that. 

'I'm getting frugal like some old lady,' she quips at herself.

\-----

Annecy, France. 8 years ago.

She was sitting at home, alone for now. Gèrard had business to tend to at the watchpoint, and had to be away. He could only be home for the week, then immediately return to his usual no-holds-barred battle against Talon.

Amèlie knew he was doing important work, Talon is an enormous threat, anyone could be their target at any given time.

Almost as if on cue, a small black canister burst through the window.

Flashbang.

Amèlie turned to run to be greeted by men in black armour and red glowing helmets. Her first thought was to Gèrard, he would be devastated by this.

\-----

Here, and Now.

She woke from her sleepless dream, with a thought.  
'He was always my first thought. Even when-' her thought cut off by turbulance. She hopes getting interrupted during every single little second of her life wouldn't become a trend.

Looking back out her window she slips back into thought.

\------

Home invasion, 6 years ago.

She closed her eyes not ready for death, but ready to not beg.

The sounds started, slamming, commotion, a few misplaced shots and a crack.

Amèlie opened her eyes to a young warrior, a hero bearing the overwatch symbol on her jacket, just above the RAF patch.

"So sorry we're late, traffic was almost murderous," the woman stated. "And ol' boys driving wasn't helping," She pointed to Gèrard already holding one of the men in black by the chest. He was asking him question after question, why he was here, what he wanted, why 'talon' wanted his wife. Amèlie could barely hear any of it, too focused on the young hero who, despite being a head shorter than Amelie, stood taller and straighter than she ever could.

"Love you aight' you look a little pail, you should have a seat," the hero's face changed from proud and energetic to worried and caring, in what seemed to be a split of a split of a second.

Amèlie, still confused replied, "Those men who-"

\-----

Here and Now

The detective was shook from her daydreams by the pilot announcing arrival at London terminal.

Her daydreams stayed behind and she was ready for business. First, the talon base.

If she remembers, it was hidden beneath a diner/pub in some ratway snug and hidden. Her FieldKit confirms it. Not only that, but Gonzales would be there for sure.

She takes a cab down to through poorer and poorer parts of town. The driver continued to look more and more worried.

"Miss I'm gonna need to drop you off here, roads too dangerous up ahead," he said holding his hand out for cash.

The detective holds out some cash. She's a bit short, so she reaches for her wallet, but he's already speeding off, away from this section of the city.

The detective already knows why, she can here a child crying, at least seven dogs barking from one apartment alone, this place is similar to the place she lived after her tour of duty. She reminisces on her days in the fight. Making sure not to get distracted she steels herself to get moving. But before she can turn and walk in the direction of her target, she hears a blood curdling scream.

"Please don't hurt us," one of three girls cried, they're surrounded by several men.

'Don't turn around, it's not your concern,' the detective thinks to herself, straightening her clothes, getting ready to leave.

There's more shuffling and another scream, the sound of tearing cloth.

'Aight' Maybe just one more time,' her thought rang out.

"C'mere, girly," one ruffian shouts, chasing a runaway.

"We only wanna feel good," shouts another.

"You wouldn't stop us from fee-," a sudden slamming fist breaks his jaw and several teeth, then an elbow, a knee, headbutt. He was down.

Before the other bits could figure out what'd happened, she was already upon them, in a similar fashion. Punch, elbow, knee, punch, knee, elbow. Her slamming fists and elbows making crackling noises against their ribs and skulls.

It starts a slight drizzle, now dazed by the flurry of blows the boys aren't prepared for a wet, oily ground.

It doesn't take much more than a few more kicks, a jab here or there.

But they're done.

One last boy who was hidden popped out from behind a dumpster, ready to help his friends face off against a rival gang, or even cops. But was instead greeted by seven of his mates on the ground groaning, one puked.

Their assailant, still standing, watching the eighth boy, piercing through him with bright glowing red goggle lenses.

She points to him, he flinched, "Lay Down!" She shouts, not wanting to waste anymore time. He listens, laying flat on his belly on the cold wet ground.

She turns away. 

"Who are you?" One of the girls asks.

The detective doesn't turn, ready to keep moving.

"I'm just your friendly neighborhood spiderman." She says, walking away with a big toothy grin, 'spiderman,' She thinks. 'I'm hilarious.'

She'll let the locals deal with it the rest of the way.

\-----

Our detective arrives at an ugly pub, maybe three or four guests. None armed.

'Scare not kill,' She thinks to herself.

Slinking into the bar all slurry and junked looking, her hair ruffled, she was just another quick tip for the bar tender.

She waved with a small smirk and bedroom eyes.

Without realising it the manager had been led into a restroom by this 'past drunk hotty'. He was ready for one thing, but got another.

 Without even thinking too heavily on it, she knocked him out with her boot.

'Key. Keys. Keys. Wallet. Cash. Ah! Keys,' She thought, pocketing 440 pounds cash from his pocket. 'He's a willing member of an international terrorist group,' her thought continued. 'He owes everyone money,' She finished.

They were predictable, the gate would be located in plain sight, behind a mirror, or some other cheap little trick. None of the other patrons minded her looking for a secret door. In fact, the detective is certain that they don't even understand.

"Only one guard is odd, must be just a small armoury and  safe house," she muttered

Once inside her plan was set.

'Light out,' she thought as a few small throwing knives knocked out the ceiling fixtures.

'Guard one. Guard two. Guard three.'

And then.

'Gonzales'

 

\-----

 

In a room with no other agents present Gonzales stands unready.

A sound behind him alerts him to another's presence.

"I told you lot to leave me to this, she's gonna cut me up and put me in the Thames if I don't finish up fixing-", a dizzying punch ends his complaint, sending him reeling.

"Gèrard lacroix," the detective drawls out.

"What the fu-" another punch.

"I know you supplied the assassin with 6 explosive devices." 

Gonzales tries striking back, not realising his own stacked frame and weight throws him right into the detectives grasp. With a twist and a crack, both of his arms are behind his back, twisted to reach around his back to touch his chest.

"Gèrard Lacroix was assassinated with 6 T45-C Pulse Bombs from your quarter, but who planted them." Another twist, another crack.

"Gonna have to do better than that, you frigid bitch!" Gonzales shouts, spitting at the detective.

The detective looks about the room, spotting the weapon rack. An interesting spread boasting everything from infantry grade artillery to energy and Pulse weapons. For her next trick, the detective chooses the 8-gauge shorty. A plan that was almost... rude, even for her.

"The name please. I don't want to do this, but I'm no stranger to it.", she practically pleads to her target.

"Fuck y-", a shotgun blast cuts him off, his arm riddled with pellets.

"The name please. I won't ask another time and I'm already going to regret this later," She shudders, she'll probably have a few nightmares about this now. Hoisting the shorty to his other arm, she raises an eyebrow seeking an answer. "It's more than a bit obvious that neither of us are 100% enjoying this," She taunts,

"THE TRACER!" he yells aloud, not wanting to lose the next arm. "A special agent sent by command to handle the most dangerous of jobs!" Practically pleading for his life with his answer.

"Wasn't as hard as you were making it, Mr. Gonzales, was it?", cocking another eyebrow. The detective, merciful as she be reaches into a pouch and pulls out a syringe. Upon injecting him, his wounds start to staunch before his eyes, nano-tech. "Now that you owe me, what else do you have on this Tracer," justice so close she can taste it. No, she won't disguise this as justice like some heroes do. This is revenge.

"The Tracer is in London for the week, Mondatta is making his speech and is a target of opportunity. The Tracer will be there!", he's desperate and she has him hook line and sinker.

"You've outfitted them then? Give me 'the run-down' on their equipment", barely catching it, not noticing she's been picking up her lovers lingo and chit-chat attitude.

"Yknow, a Arachnae sniper rifle, a length of rope, some food capsules, and a set of scaling boo-", cut off again but by a taming snap of the fingers.

"The boots show me the pair and the size," we just might have a lead here.

Size 8 men's boots, a unique model designed specifically for urban climbing. Parkour, a skilled free runner choosing the right boots.

The detective pulls out her FieldKit, turning on her omni-light. The omni-light setting glow to all footprint in the room, searching for the pair of size nines.

"Size... 10... 16 Christ. Big guy... size 9.... AHA 8!", clicking an image of the exact boot print. At this point the sedative in her nano-injector has done it's job, Gonzales is out but not dead. No fatalities and she has the best lead on her suspect.

\------

She's outside now, and she knows she's so close, closers than luck can bring her. She'll need to tread carefully from here on out.

Pulling out a sliver chain from around her neck, a set of silvee spider-bite earings and two wedding bands on the loop.

"Lena, Gèrard. I'm close, you can rest in peace tonight," turning and leaving the way she came.

\-----

With what could be mistaken as a spring to her step, the detective leaves her hiding hole. Holding out her notepad to make a checklist of today's events.  
\---  
• Work the plaza for boot prints from the tracers climbers  
• milk  
• restock tools/grapple lines  
• set up apartment for any talon 'visitors'  
• eggs...  
• find overwatch safe house if at all possible  
• wash our jacket  
\---  
As she wrote the last one in she smelled her jacket.

"Mustard, sausage/egg burrito, and that old Spice deodorant. Heh that one was Lena's favo-," great. It's gonna be one of those days today too, isn't it. Three in a row.

"Getting better, you are hmmm," She spoke aloud in a mocking Yoda voice, imitating her therapist. Overpaid schmuck with ugly glasses he is.

\-----

She's looking around, slightly confused. She's lost a bit, but almost familiar with the halls by now.

"Ugh you've been here for a few days, how hard can it be?", she thought aloud. Though the watchpoints were all similar, the important parts were all strewn about in different areas. Medbay where lounge should be, briefing where Medbay was, hangar is the same, but there's a pool table in this one.

Exploring the deeper parts of the watchpoint yields Winston, everyone's favorite gori.... scientist.

"Ah, Amèlie!", he spoke with a start. "When did you get here?"

"I arrived three days ago, mon ami. But you were busy, so we left you to it.", she replied trying to cover the whole question. "However I do need your help with something."

"My help? Amélie I'm just the one who fixes stuff, unless somethings broken I'm afraid I might not be of much use.", he replies almost trying to brush off his own comment as a joke.

Before she can reply he continues, "floor one, three doors left of the main hanger elevator. Coffee's still hot.", he says curtly, continuing work on a small device with a dull blue glow.

"Thank you, friend. I'll just be goi-," if being interrupted were a career, she'd be one well payed employee.

"I'm serious when I say this Amèlie, if ANYTHING Is broken, I can help. In one way or another.", he replied gesturing to her hand, ring gone with a line where it once was.

"Im... afraid I have no clue what you mean.", she replied with a flinch. She hadn't told anyone, had Lena? It didn't matter she was a bit groggy and coffee with a side of Lena wouldn't hurt.

\-----

Looking down at her notepad, three things were crossed out, Milk, Eggs, Clean Stinky Girlfriend Garb. Calling her jacket that became a second hand thing, never saying it aloud of course.

She looked around, the overwatch symbol marked a banner on the wall on the far end of the room. The safehouse. She crosses that off of her list.

An odd out of place beeping cuts her out of any further thought, a comm. There's power in this facility, someone's been here.

Talon? No those imbeciles couldn't break in here, recently some vigilantes have been cutting through Talon like a hot knife through butter. Talon's best agents have been on hold for mission marked 'Critical Importance'.

'Who could be here,' the detective mutters.

Finally paying attention, she realises it's her jacket, making that ear piercing beep. She hears the muffle. A small lump in her jacket. A commlink.

"You already know all of this.", from the comm emerges a familiar voice. Winston.

"But look around! Someone has to do something! We have to do something! The world needs us now more that ever! So someone please answer me!", panic striking his voice. "You all can't be gone...", he trails off.

A blip on his map sends a spark of electricity down his spine. "Lena? Lena Oxton!?", he asks now confused.

"Non, mon ami," our detective replies. "Someone who's never been in the 'hero' business."

"I thought you went down with Gèr-", now her turn to interrupt someone, she let's out a hush. 

"I have business in london, but I will be by your side soon.", she assured him. "You won't have to worry about being alone in this fight for longer friend...", she pauses letting the silence fill the watchpoints, giving time for the blips on Winston's map fill slowly. Slowly the blips total ten, then fifteen. He's shocked at this solidarity to say the least. All it took was the push of one hero, and the rest would come.

"The cavalry's here"


	2. A Story About Travel.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena is the best pilot in the world! However, a new mission from her boss temporarily takes her wings. Her job? Guard duty, for his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roast me.
> 
> My writing needs to improve roast me damn you.
> 
> Blur the line between 'constructive critisism' and straight up roasts.
> 
> Spent from 0150am to 0330am editing this. So roast me up if I missed anything.

Lena Oxton, as she could remember, was flying fast and low. Testing a new teleportation engine was a new concept, even for her. So, to train for this new project, she spent hours a day at the airfield, spelling her name in the sky, and  downing fighter drones. By the sixth day she'd made a lasting impression on her soon-to-be boss, Gèrard.

"Oxton, report to Lacroix's office." the intercom drones out across the base.

"Wonder what that'd be?" Lena asks herself. "NO! I CAN'T BE FIRED ALREADY," She practically screams across the base, breaking into a panicked sprint. Probably making for some gold-medalist speeds in her mad dash to Lacroix's office.

"Oxton! Present!," She shouts. Having slammed the door almost off of its hinges. She had already wiped the beads of sweat from her brow, straightened out, and gave a salute to her CO.

"Oxton, are you doing well? You look exhausted." Lacroix asks, slight worry in his voice.

"I'm ready and  rarin' for whatever you have to throw at me!", she almost screams, wanting to keep this job for at least a week.

"So energetic, afraid I might fire you are we?" the frenchman said, making Lena flinch. 

"I'm... yeah." Lena admits letting out a held breath.

"You don't need to worry yourself, we actually need you more than you need us!" he let's out a booming laugh. "Just don't tell anyone I said that, eh?" he request, cocking an eyebrow.

"Cross my heart! Now what was it you needed me for then?", her panic changing to excitement in the blink of an eye. 

"Ah, yes! You're fired!" he admits with a smirk.

Much to her dismay, he wasn't joking.

\-----

At a small cafe in Annecy, France.

"You could have just said reassigned, that'd have been soooooooo much nicer on my ticker," she gestures to her heart. "Almost threw me on my ass ya did  
" She continues.

"Technically I'm not supposed to be reassigning you at all, youngster. But, I need you. Better to trust an outsider the way things are right now." he says implying something was wrong.

"What're you getting at, you've been talkin all hush-hush spy-vs-spy since we left the Swiss HQ. What's going on?" She asks obviously in the dark entirely.

"Listen to me closely Lena," he demands, using her first name now. "Someone within overwatch is planning on bringing down the entire organization. I don't know who or why, but I do know this, they made me an offer to join them. Their exact quote... 'join or die, Gèrard.' I think was how they put it," he begins explaining. "As such I've brought you here, to fill in your physical training. Your hand-to-hand is lacking, accuracy with small weapon is... well, non-existant."he continues. His French accent all but blending away as he continues to explain.

"I'm... here to learn how to fight? Believe me I can handle myself in a sockin contest.", she tries to defend her hurt pride. "I don't lack any other skil-"

"They threatened my wife, Lena.", he cuts off her rant. "I need you here to help me protect her. You're the only one I trust right now. You were at our wedding, I know you can handle yourself. But, it's like I said, someone inside overwatch wants to bring it down. I need someone like you, from the outside, to protect my Amèlie." he continues his explanation.

"What does that mean though, who are they. Do you know?", she's desperate for answers.

"The less you know the better, Lena," he assures her. "We've got Talons in the front of us, and whoever else's blades behind us." he's trying not to make too big of a commotion in the cafe, though he's obviously distressed.

"Gotcha, love. Now what about your wife. How does she play into this?" she asks, seeing her almost as a mere bystander.

"They'll attack me from all fronts, directly assassinate me, take friends, family, whatever they can to get to me. Talon will destroy me to weaken overwatch, the insiders will destroy me for 'disloyalty', I just want Amèlie to be safe," his voice cracking now. "And as far as is can see, you're the best agent for the job."

"And what about the Slipstream? They'll be suspicious if we don't check in."

 

"Not a problem, I've already seen your record. Your flying is nothing to joke about, you're a true master of our time," he does his best to sound reassuring, steeling his voice. "I've cleared you for the mission, now we only have to wait on the researchers go-ahead. We have all the time in the world until then, but please," his voice breaking again. "Please consider helping me."

"Well...", she ponders over her tea, still untouched since she arrived. "I've let you drag me this far.", she grabs her tea, and downs the entire mugs worth. "I'm in, boss." she states as she slams the mug down onto the ground, shattering it.

"Excellent, we start today!" he shouts also slamming his mug down onto the floor.

"I'm not paying for these!" Lena shouts standing from her seat.

\-------

Lacroix residence. Annecy, France.

Home invasion.

"Boss, was that Talon?", Lena begs her question, not wanting to know if it were talon or agents in overwatch. The lack of markings made it difficult to tell the difference.

"Yes this time it was Talon. Though we can't be sure it'll be Talon every time," he looks through the shades. "Only silenced weapons so no real noise left the house."

"Hey, hey, I have you, you alright?", Lena asks. Holding the obviously terrified woman, she's shaking, staring at the bodies. "Dammit man, comfort your wife, she's got your ring not mine!", Lena shouts to Gèrard.

"Talon could be back any second! We don't have time!", he replies just a loud. "What good is comfort for a pair of corpses?", he asks. "Grab a gun and get your chin up!"

Lena was taken aback, he asked for her help protecting his wife. Now, she didn't know who she was being protected from, Talon, The Insiders, or Gèrard.

"I'm unpaid help, you don't give me orders anymore," She declares. "Wage your mini-war with a Talon hit squad, or help me get her to the safehouse down on 16th!", Lena wasn't about to let his bravado get the three of them killed. He knows how to convince her to protect, but not commit to wanton killing. "Options, old boy, we've got to move soon and fast. C'mon, she's deceptively heavy!" She shouts, hoisting Amèlie into a bridal hold.

Gèrard was shocked, earlier she was a chipper girl with nothing more to her than attitude and a clear flying record. This was someone to keep around, useful.

"Very well, 16th. Once there you hole up, I'll head back to HQ.", he commands, taking Amelie up, trading his gun for her. "Don't worry amoureaux, you'll be safe soon", he assures a still VERY confused Amèlie.

 

Lena slams the back door open, not realising Talon agents awaited in the back as well. Ready to take them on, Lena charges, ready to be the hero.

Ready to be the good guy.

\-----

The safehouse was decent enough, three bedrooms. Two bath. Fully stocked on food, and a drop point for various tools to help an agent on the run.

Among these caches were some low caliber weapons, biotic syringes, and one Mk. 10 Vishkar Pre-Light FieldKit.

The FieldKit was something to keep close, a phone, file viewer, camera, 3-D forensic scanner, and of course, music player in one package. Lena was trying to figure it out when she heard a noise from the main bedroom.

She turns to see Amèlie, confused and worried. Still scared from what had happened.

"Where am I?", she asks. "Who are you, where's-", interrupted. She feels slightly annoyed at it, but doesn't think of it.

"You're in an overwatch safehouse, I'm Lena Oxton, I'm under orders from Commander Lacroix to protect you.", Lena does her best to explain, while keeping her in the dark. "Gèrard is fine, he's out working, and I'm his stand-in protector of the Innocent!", Lena shouts the last part, puffing her chest out a little.

"Certainly, you are...", Amèlie watches her display, almost amused. "My home, can I assume it's not safe to go back?"

"Yep, for now you're stuck with me and Gèrard!", Lena replies. "If you got any other questions, ask away! I'll answer best I can!"

"Why are we being hunted", she asks trying not to sound grim.

A strong silence takes over the safehouse.

"Well, see... you... yknow...," Lena honestly has never been too proud of her exposition skills. "Hm. That's honestly a really good question. I'll ask them if they come, how's that sound?"

"I'm not... hm... what's the word..." Amelie started, but cut herself off, trying to remember what word to use.

"Certain?" Could that be the one?

"No another word." Didn't exactly fit.

"Confident?" Maybe?

"Yes! I am not confident in that answer," she spoke with energy, almost contradicting the grim reality of the statement. Lena has literally No Idea as to why she's here on this day, in this place.

"To be honest, neither am I love"

"Love, eh. Don't get ahead of yourself," Amèlie offered, trying to steer away from this looming subject.

"NO, now. Don't get. Uh," Lena was flushed, her Kewl and Casual facade knocked over in seven words or less. "Don't go taking that out of context, now," her cool slowly returning to her when she realises Amèlie had already forgotten her remark.

"Are we to be locked here, until..."

"Further notice? No, we can go outside, but we'll need disguises.", she returns to fiddling with the FieldKit.

"I know how to work that, let me see." Amèlie reaches out for Lena to hand it over.

"We'll be fine on food for now, won't need to leave anytime soon." Lena says as she hands over the device.

"English, not my first choice, cherie," Amèlie admits while changing the FieldKits language default to her native French. "There. Ready to go working!"

Lena looked at her in awe, that's one complicated device, she just tosses it about like it was nothing. Running though the thing like it was second nature.

"You've had one of these before." Lena asks trying not to sound utterly impressed.

"No, I just looked at it and it tells me how to use it. The.... program. Toot. Too." Amelie's confused again, English is dumb and no one should suffer speaking it.

"Tutorial program? Love, your English is good, but at the same time it's atrocious." Lena admits with a laugh.

Amelie looks across the table and takes her seat. She looks to Lena, thinking shortly, "how's your French, cherie."

"Fair," Lena nods without a moment of hesitation. French was a wonky wild language with one word meaning eight different things, she'd never tried to learn. "I'll help you with english, if you show me some French Fundamentals," She says with sarcastic cheer.

"Sure.", Amelie answers not looking up from the FieldKit.

"Oh, I was... Hm... Fuck it. Mum wanted me to learn Not English sometime anyway." Lena admits, not wanting to seem like a Coward. She'll learn French! Yeah! She'll be the best hon hon baguette motherfucker out there!

"How's this then, I'll do my best to learn English to its fullest, and you'll do your best for French!" Amèlie declares, trying to lighten the mood as best she can.

"Hmm... top effort then? I'm in!" Lena calls right back.  
This job might not be as bad as she was thinking.

\-----

The television flickered and blinked with no signs of improving anytime soon.

"Love, you'd think they'd give more for the cable bill or something. This place kinda sucks." Lena watches the screen turn to complete static, almost amused by the pepper/salt patterns.

Three weeks. Three weeks, and neither have heard anything, from anyone. Not a call, text, or radio-check-in.

"Cherie, they pay for needs not wants, the food is almost ready. Get plates." Amelie replies.

"Love it when you get all commandment on me." Lena replies, getting plates ready. Another day, another viewless brick wall outside the window. Amèlie nearby helped a lot though, made it fell... homier.

A call rings out on the FieldKit. Gèrard.

Amèlie stares at the device, she'd been tinkering with it for week, but could never make a call.

"Well, love. I think it's for you," Lena urges her, nudging for her to answer. There'd be no reason for her to want to stay here any longer.

"Amèlie Lacroix," She states, very matter-of-factly.

"Excellent, I knew they had a FieldKit hidden there somewhere. I'm sending orders, a map to another safehouse."

Lena thought it over, a map to the next safehouse. "We're moving. Nice, a change of scene wouldn't go unwelcome. Has Athena gotten us passage to this safehouse?"

\-----

Spain wasn't so bad. They don't have many complaint, save for the usual 'Amèlie, please plug my phone in pleeeeaasssseee'

In Spain, they met with veteran agent Ana Amari. She was a living masterpiece of a woman, both caught themselves staring when she walked in. Shed just waltzed in, made tea, and sat at the couch. 

"Hello ladies. Fancy meeting anyone else here." She starts.

"Uh...." Lena tries to reply. But lost at it, what if she was one of The Insiders, those insidious shits could be anywhere! But, Lena and Amèlie couldn't take someone like Ana Amari, they'd be dead before she even touched them!

"No, child. I'm not one of those ruffians 'within overwatch' starting trouble." She explains, almost reading Lena's mind.

"How'd you-"

"Gèrard has more alliances than just you, little one," She continues, then turning to Amèlie. "I'm very sorry to have a civilian wrapped up in all of this, and one of our own at that! Please forgive us when this is all over, will you?"

Amèlie was blown out of the water, such kindness from someone she'd just met. But not only that, she's apologizing for a crime yet to be done! "I suppose, if I can get back to sitting at my home, and staring at the wall waiting for Gèrard to come home, then maybe I'll forgive you all." She wanted to sound joking, but that was roughly life for her. Waiting. Dance class. Waiting. Shop. Waiting.

Ana frowned "worst of all, I hope you find it in you to forgive him! The gall of that man!" She starts, already finished with tea, she stands. "I'm going down to the range a klik down the road, would you two honor me by joining me?" She asks the two tenderly.

Both still very confused as to what's happening. Lena still stuck on Amèlie's last comment.

\-----

The shooting range was empty, not many around these parts have guns, just the gangs, rebels, and mercs.

The distance on the range was nothing for the seasoned sniper, Ana had hit something like this with her eyes closed, arms tied, and bare ass at that. The story almost killed Lena, bless her heart.

Ana passed the rifle down the line, Lena's turn.

"Ooh, sorry love, no can do." She denies her turn.

"Ah yes, I'm sorry," Ana bit her own tongue. "Well, frenchy. How's about it?" She says, holding her rifle forward.

Amèlie had never shot a gun before, she'd not know the first thing about it. Just that when guns are fired, trouble is bound to follow. She takes the rifle. 'A good time to learn.' She thinks.

"Now, the target at 50m. Try that-" cut off by the boom of the rifle. "Well it was a good try, but let's aim next time."

Lena was quiet. Too quiet. "Love, she hit it." She declares, handing her a pair of binoculars.

Ana peers down range. "Well, now. We have a natural! How's about 100m."

One shot, one kill. One by one 50m mark by 50m mark, the target shattered, and splintered. Amèlie had this down to an art by the two minute mark. She was a perfect menace with this weapon.

The night continued like this, potshots at down range targets, and laughs shared by all three.

\------

Rome, Italy. The safehouse her was smaller than the last two, two beds in one room, a cramped bathroom. But the two made the best of it. Amèlie improving in her English, Lena in her French.

For the few weeks there, Lena taught her some moves in karate, or KAY RAH TAY as Lena put it. Though teaching wasn't quite the word for it, as Amèlie had already known her steps in several styles. Lena hadn't known what'd hit her.

Lena's sitting with a bleeding nose, slightly shocked at her friends dexterity. 

"Your ENTIRE leg, over my head," She shouts across the room to Amèlie, now rooting through a med kit. "Love, you're a natural at all this. Why didn't you join up?"

"Gèrard wouldn't have it," She shrugs. "Said 'it's no place for a married woman, Amèlie'," She continues, "also I wouldn't dare take another's life." She says, holding out a cold pack for her new and steadfast friend.

Lena is staring at her, the sun piercing past her shoulder like she were and Angel. She looks like someone had sent her from heaven just to kick the young englishwoman in the face. She takes the cold pack and Amèlie walked away to reseal the med kit.

"Nice." Lena mutters, not wanting to be heard.

They sit about for the short end of another three weeks. Nothing going by, and Lena reaching the end of her boredom stick.

"Love, I read some info on you from the database. You're a dancer?" Lena asks with a start.

"Ah. Yes I tought a few lessons every other week at home in Annecy." Amèlie replied, wondering where this is all.coming from.

"Can you show me?" Lena asks, almost a begging coming from her eyes.

"Hmmmm... I'd need music to-"

"No not 'show' me, Show Me. I'd love to learn a few steps!"

Amèlie, taken aback by this. A hero, a soldier, wanting to learn to dance

 

Neither had realized, but the mood at their current 'situation' was all but gone. They were fine with this, on a small level. Travelling around, arm-in-arm with as close a friend as the other had been these last few months. Neither could ask for anything better.

Lena's two left feet didn't help much, but she would get there. 

The nights here continued like this, dancing until neither could continue.

\-----

Wales

This safehouse was the all around nicest of the bunch, an inconspicuous little cottage, in a nice secluded town. The village too small to not notice a creeper or two. The market stocked with fresh food. And finally, if worse came to worse, not enough people in one spot to be hurt in a firefight.

Lena had settled down into a movie.

"LOVE C'MERE, LOOK! THEY HAVE A DVD PLAYER! LOOK IT'S REAL!" she'd shouted across the small cottage. Amèlie unpacking into her room. Her various little odds and ends from their travels so far spread out across the bed.

Amèlie came out, shocked at the actual antique underneath the holo-vision. A real, old times DVD player.

At this turn of fortune, the two made a quick supper, sat down, and watch some Old-World-Action-Movies.

They looked at each other and thought, this isn't half bad. Even the MRE dinner couldn't ruin it. The two held each other close.

Both had fallen asleep like this. 

Alone, but together.

\-----

It's been almost a year now, 'technical difficulties' are holding the Slipstream back, and Lena and Amèllie have enjoyed each other's 'company' more than a few times.

They're back at Swiss HQ, the coffee lounge.

All Amèlie needs right now is Lena. She's been an enormous comfort, even with their current problem hanging in the air. 

"Mornin Lena, sleep good?" Amèlie asks the heroine standing at the counter.

She's standing, and asleep. She's completely unaware of it, too. That's the part that amuses amelie the most, she's sleeping completely upright without a problem.

Amèlie looked on a bit longer before deciding to take her back to their bunk.  
"Come on, now," She whispers to her companion. "You're lucky you're tiny, cherie," She states, before scooping Lena up bridal style, like Lena did for her back in Annecy.

She lays Lena on their bed, making sure the blinds are shut.

Lena pokes an eye open, having been awake halfway through the trip back to the room. It's about noon, but they both decide to sleep in a bit longer.

Until a call rings out on their FieldKit. Lena's commlink is barely used anymore, everyone knows that she might lose it or leave it somewhere. So instead of calling that, they'll call the FieldKit Amèlie has, as Lena is always at least a step or two away from her.

"Amèlie," the French woman answers, "who's this?" Lena's already sneaking off into "her" room. "Ah you need Lena! I'll go get her," Amèlie replies to the question.

Lena coming back, opening and shutting the door, then again. She'd need it to sound convincing, "Who is it now? Its a bit early isn't it?" She feigns restlessness.

"Lena, it's 1230, you can wake up. I have news," it was Gèrard. Why would he give Lena news and not Amèlie? It was odd to her to say the least. "Lena, the Slipstream is ready and they need their pilot."

She remembers now, the one thing that had her wound up and ready to take down the world. The Slipstream, her time-travel-teleport jet that she'd been assigned to test pilot.

"When's launch, might I ask?"

"One week from today." Gerard answers coolly, "Now I need to get back to this, it's an important mission against Talon." And with a click. He was off doing his greater good. Not even stopping to say goodbye to his wife.

\-------

She sits staring at the FieldKit, taken away from their little illusion, finally. After all this time. A year and a half now, running around, ensuring each other's safety. Lena bit her toungue, she never wanted this to end. They saw the world together, well, most of Europe at least.

"Well love, I just got the word. Slipstream launches in a week." Lena states almost grimly.

"Mon trèsor, that's wonderful! You'll be doing what you came here to do," Amèlie stares, trying to sound unworried. Lena had told her the risks of the test flight. She knew what'd happen, should something happen.  
Lena might not ever come back. Amèlie would lose her Lena, Lena would lose her Amèlie.

"Welp, let's go get drunk!" Lena shouts, not letting her previous thoughts distract her. She was always one to bury her negative thoughts, but even for her this was a new record. Lena would never make Amèlie worry like that. She had swore never to hurt her.

"It's is something we should celebrate, of course." Amèlie responds calmly, despite her terror at the thought of doing anything alone. She'd never wanted to be alone, not like she was.

\-----

Lena's locker, Swiss HQ.

Lena is standing on attention, in a blue and yellow jumpsuit. She had never been more ready to do anything, she'd spent the whole of this last week getting gassed up by her #1 fan.

"Lena you look stiff," Amèlie calls from the doorway. "Hm... at easy."

That one made Lena laugh, a real laugh. Unlike when she tries to bottle something up. This one was real and hearty.

"At ease, love. At ease," She corrects.

"That's not what I said?" Amèlie asks again confused by the nightmare of her lovers native language.

Lena's stature lowering, relaxing. She'd only let her guard down like this for Amèlie. She'd never hide anything from her.

"Whatcha got there?" Lena asks pointing to the shopping bag around Amèlie's wrist.

"I have something for you, mon trèsor," She answers. "Close your eyes." Not an order, but a request.

"Alright love, lay it on me," She feels... glasses... a box put into her hand... and warmth wrapping around her neck.

"There. A proper pilot 'look'." Amèlie turns Lena to the lockers mirror.

A white scarf, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. And in the box, four silver hoop earrings.

"Oh love, these are-" cut off by Amèlie turning her around.

"They're yours, mon trèsor" Amèlie explains, taking out Lena's old studs. "These little things were poking me wrong from the start anyway." She explains.

Cocking up one eyebrow, Lena replies "they're not what needs to poke you proper though, love," her eyebrow now doing a waving motion.

A flick, right on the forehead, is her reward.  
Before Amèlie puts her earrings in for her. 

"You look amazing," Amèlie sighs out. "A true, how'd you put it, Space Travel Time Pilot?" Earning another laugh from Lena.

"I can't wear these earrings on the test run, so hold onto em aight'?" She asks, taking the hoops out.

"Very well, the sunglasses I suppose you'll need though, and a scarf never hurt any teleportation machines before... has there?" Amèlie asks.

\-----

"Wind conditions perfect, sun high, ready to hit the sky, control!" Lena calls out from her seat in the Slipstream jet.

"Slipstream 1, you're clear for take off."

'A few laps around the base. Take the Slipstream field for a test. No risks this time, Lena,' letting her thoughts jangle out.

Like a flash of lightning, she was bolting forward.

"Amazing, Amèlie! You there? You see that?" Lena shouted over the comm.

"Of course, ma tresor, please keep an eye on the sky though." She answers, worry practically dripping from her.

"We've got noth-... to worry bou-... sure-...." silence. "Boss... I think-... BOSS-... TELEPORT-.... MATRIX-..... FAILING-...." 

A cold silence. The team looked to the sky, Gèrard had arrived, but Amelie hadn't even noticed.

"BOSS-.... I'M GOING LOW-......... CAN YOU-..... VISIBLE AT ALL-...... " mortified shouting across the comm, all too chopped up to make out.

Amèlie standing still, but looking fast as she can, across the testing zone. "There!" She shouts, pointing to the blur and flash that seemed just beyond visible eye contact 

"I'M-.... CAN..." silence again.

"Amèli-... You've-...." seemingly counting the time between her teleportation spams. "Been-.... great-..."

 

Amèlie sat quietly, almost feeling more alone now than she ever could, or ever will.

"Please don't go mon trèsor, please don't leave me." Amelie responds.

"We've... been... great..."

And just like that, static.

\----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh right. Find me at tumblr @alt-ifand


	3. A Story About Abandonment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Slipstream. Lena becomes Tracer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy were back, this time with a short chapter! Not feelsy this time. Promise.
> 
> Hmmmmm... actually screw a set schedule for updates. I'm a rebel. No one tells me what to do. Not even time!
> 
> Also, Beta timeline origin stories soon.

\-----

Lena woke with a jolt.

She was alone, in a tiny room. A cell? No, the holding cells look different.

She couldn't remember anything past the flight.

What she does know, is that whenever she tried to move, a sharp pain pierced into her chest. Despite her 'smarter' side arguing, she decides to see what was wrong. Slower and slower she looked down. 

It confused Lena, but she could see it. A red and black device, buried deep into her chest cavity. Her eyes widen at the sight of it. She couldn't think of anything else to do, so she started screaming.

Her cries for help couldn't be heard beyond the door, soundproofing drowning it out. She'd scream and scream until her voice cracked and she had nothing left to scream for. She screamed for overwatch, Winston, Athena, anyone.

But for the most part, she screamed to Amelie. She would yell, and bite, and spit and yowl, she'd claw at her restraints, tears streaming down her face. She'd scream out of fear, could the slipstream have hurt anyone on base somehow? Was Amèlie alright?

Slowly her fear and wild confusion built and built until she chose to start throwing things about the small room.

She'd do this for hours. What'd feel like days. She'd do it until finger nails would jag themselves loose. She'd scream until Her voice caught in her throat. She'd thrash until every piece of furniture, every part of her compartment was destroyed.

Her voice now jagged, she pleaded. Her small voice ringing in her own ears. Pleading for someone to hear her, for help, to be let out.

She lay on the floor of her shattered room for what felt like another eternity. She'd lay and think to herself. On what she'd done to the room, what she could to do leave. She'd think about who could have her, this isn't HQ, or Gibraltar. She'd started to think it was the UN, she'd never seen their holding cells. 

The device on her chest hummed quietly, the compact thing made her chest look hollow. Finally getting a look good look at it, it looked like something Winston could have built. Peering past the glass at the center of the sunken device made her skin crawl.

She could see her heart.

 

\----

 

"Ms. Oxton I see you've burned though your reserve of energy," a voice called out. A soft, peaceful voice.

"Where the hell am I, where's Winston."

"You mean your 'friends' at overwatch. They abandoned you, little one."

A man in black entered her room, left a tray of food, and left. He'd done his job, now let the man in the comm do his.

"They'd never leave me like that." She responds, investigating the food.

"Oh but they certainly did, little one. You were lost in time, stuck in limbo, they couldn't find you."

"So they looked."

"For two weeks total, then they found your jet, and returned to their drawing board. I'm certain they also found another pilot."

"You're wrong."

"You see, you were lost in the slipstream, but using that device on your chest there, we've locked you down. You're completely solid now. You can walk around freely."

"And who gave me this device, might I ask?"

"You might not ask, actually. You're in safe, caring hands now. You'll need food, water, and rest. You've been gone a while."

"How long."

"Seven months."

"I'm sorry?"

"Ms. Oxton, you've been asleep for seven months."

Lena stops figeting about, no longer interested in the food either, the reality dawning in her. Seven months. They looked for two weeks. Two weeks out of seven months.

"Please. Make yourself at home," the voice offered, as the door to her compartment opened.

\-----

 

"Where am I, I'm willing to know now," Lena asks. It's been three weeks, she's been here three weeks. She's just been eating, drinking, and sleeping. A grand total of three activities to pass her time.  
Worst of all, despite doing nothing but eat, she seemed to be getting skinnier, paler.

"We've are an organisation called Talon" the voice responded.

That sent a shiver up Lena's spine, why would they of all people want to save her.

"Overwatch let you die, Ms. Oxton. We wont."

She seemed.

Pleased at that.

"Why?"

"Because we need you. Overwatch is thwarting our efforts across the board. We can't help this world with a terrorist organisation like them on the loose."

"What are you saying?"

"We're only here to help. After the omnic crisis, it'd been made abundantly clear, this world needs a do over, but to rebuild a great world, the old one must be destroyed."

"And what, you want me to help you destroy this one?"

"No no no, Ms. Oxton. We'll be doing the heavy lifting. You'll do just clear our path."

Lena couldn't believe what she was hearing, or the fact that she believed it. Overwatch left her to die. She has every right to seek revenge. And a new world to go with it, this world could use a slight make-over.

"When do I start?"

"You just did"

\-----

Lena's been with Talon for a month now, and all this time, more and more things about overwatch have 'been revealed' she learns of outside dealings, agents making side jobs, corruption. She learns that the leaders have been rejecting jobs to defend under developed countries because they won't pay enough. She learns that Gèrard personally signs off on rejection letters to said needy folk.

She must be evaluated

She's cleared for duty.

Now for outfitting.

They give her an airtight, slice-proof bodysuit to go around her 'chronal-accelerator'.

She specifically requested several, and the quartmaster stresses, SEVERAL .45acp combat pistols. She requests a jacket too, one like her old RAF jacket.

Now was her name. Every agent needed to have a new name given to them of their choice.

She remembers something her lover had called her all the time.

'Tresor'

"Tracer, registered." A robotic voice responds.

Even if it sounds off, her name should at least remind her of home. It felt right. Using a name based on the one her love had given her. She'd never forget her time with Amèlie. Hopefully Amèlie hasn't already.

Two files slapping onto the table in front of her shake Lena from her thoughts.

A choice to be made.

"A choice between A. Tekhartha Mondatta. Or B. Gerard Lacroix." An almost robotic voice tells Tracer.

"Lacroix. I'm taking it right to them." Tracer says, seething with rage.

"I'm taking down Gerard Lacroix." She states. "Send me my order, and I'll be on the way."

Tracer, ready for action, itching to get back at overwatch for leaving her behind.

She looked fairly casual, the catsuit could be construed as some weird new fashion. Her new jacket blew about in the helipad winds. 

Her orders came in, Gèrard is holed up in a London safehouse.

The details of the kill were to be left to Tracers discretion.

\-----

Her flight to London was short.

But he was there, in some mission, or something less 'professional'.

Talon had been watching him, and provided Tracer with evidence of his debauchery, pictures, videos, proof of him being with other women. Being unfaithful To Amelie. Tracer ground her teeth, making a loud guttural noise in the back of her air transport. 

She'd destroy him for betraying her trust. For betraying her own as well. For abandoning her.

Tracer stops at a bar in a bad side of town, underneath said bar is her temporary quartermaster. After requisitioning several bombs from him, she makes her way out. She's ready for this.

Amelie stuck close to him though. So she'd need to lure her away.

Her FieldKit from Annecy!

With a quick bug, and a quicker mis-translation, Amelie's GPS led her a few blocks away.

Away from six explosions going off in Gerard Lacroix's face.

Tracer was pleased with her work.

She was happy for herself. Her former 'mentor' now lie in a ruin, his body probably unrecoverable.

Now on a plane, set for HQ. On her ride she would need to write a report. She'd get used to writing these.

Returning to Talon only yielded unexpectedly angry eyes.

"A civilian was caught in those explosions, Agent Tracer." They knew. They knew what this would do to her. They needed her to be broken.

"What civilian, the safehouse was secluded in the abandoned piece of town. No other-"

"Amelie Lacroix, the targets wife was caught in the explosion. The civilian was killed. This is too much attention to-"

"I made sure she wasn't there. How could she have avoided my countermeasure."

"We have a body, Tracer. Gerard was utterly destroyed, but they found a body." Another voice chimed in, presenting several photos. Talon spies snapped enough to get Tracer worked up, and few more. The photos revealed the destroyed safehouse, a pile of mutilated parts, and a woman lying next to it. Amèlie's face only half of what it was.

Talon had picked up emergency radio chatter from overwatch channels.

\---

"Gèrard Lacroix has been assassinated, repeat, Commander Lacroix is dead." One voice hurriedly jangled out.

"Any further casualties?" The second asks.

A third interjects, "two civilians, the housekeeper, and Amèlie Lacroix, the wife."

\---

It's true. Lena's head swirled. She's alone now.

Tracer could hear more chatter, but was hardly listening. Winston asking brokenly if she could be saved, more reports, more irritating talking.

"You'll need to correct your report, Agent Tracer," Another of the voices echoes out. "We don't keep bad-"

"Yell for me if you need me. I'll be in my quarters." Lena brushed off their complaints. She should be the one complaining. She would never touch the Lacroix files ever again.

She went to a training area, and found a wooden punching post. The poor wooden post hadn't known what hit it. Blow after blow set into the post. Tracer kept hitting it as hard and as fast as she could. She wouldn't stop, even after the cracks stopped coming from the wood, but from her own fists. Her bones shattering under her own strength didn't stop her. Blood pooled at her feet from her fists, but it didn't matter. She deserved this, she deserved worse.

She kept hitting the training area equipment. She began shouting, screaming, crying to any God that could hear her. She cursed at the world, the universe. She hated it. She's alone now.  
She thrashed about like this for two days, destroying anything that would get in her way. She kept going, pushing herself to destroy more, to let it out.

She's alone now.

She's got no one else now.

No one would take her back.

She'd sit for weeks, thinking on what she'd  do next.

Eventually she decided to herself, "This is where I belong now. Talon is my home now."  

But Tracer was unaware of what talon was doing to her. Drugs here and there, little modifications to her body going under her radar. No matter how much she ate, she'd keep getting skinnier. Her eyes sunk like she's never had a lick of sleep in her entire life. She was broken.

And Talon loved it.

\-----

The months following were filled with similar jobs to her first, finished in and out. Long range sniping, poisoning national leaders, destroying prototypes of new weapons, all in Talon's name.

She was a weapon now. More happy when she was killing for Talon than she was even up in the sky.

She's a weapon now.

The Tracer.

Talon's Little Masterpiece

Overwatches' new nightmare.

\-----

Four years have passed, and that grim giddiness at doing Talon's bidding never left her.

Her next target, some monk giving some over touted speech over love or peace. Lena Oxton would be interested, but Tracer is only here for a job well done.

Her spotter was only there for decoration. She knew what she was doing. The spotter knows hes not welcome. He hides himself up away from her shot point, not wanting to distract her.

She's ready.

She's ready to feel Alive.

\-----

19:40pm, Kings Row

With her FieldKit goggles over her eyes, the detective can see the glowing boot prints of every visitor to the plaza from at least a week ago. She's looking for...

"Those," She whispers. Her FieldKit marking a pair of boot prints with glowing outlines. The rest of the same boot prints in the plaza follow suit, glowing a path. Around and around the boots circle the plaza during the busy day, likely unnoticed. Likely looking for the best vantage point. Now she just has to find any abnormal strays from the beaten foot print path. One path makes its way farther fro. The crowd than the rest.

She notices another pair of similar boots, larger. She'll have to deal with two most likely. But she's worried about size 8, not their counterpart.

 "That's the one.", she murmured.

The glowing trailer makes its way into a nearby alleyway, she notes they move in long strides up the alley wall. Her grapple makes short work of the climb.

Her heart beating out of her chest, she can see the perfect spot for a shot.

She pulls a short white scarf from her RAF jacket, wrapping it over her face to conceal herself. A figure emerges from the dark by an air conditioner.

"There you are," She mutters shakily.

Twiggy agent in Talon's red and black suit, four glowing eyes peering into a scope.

She's been preparing for years for this.

She won't hold back, she won't sedate this one.

She won't let them get away Alive.

 

\-------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited at 5am, criticism welcome as all hell.


	4. A Story About A Rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One kills to feel alive. One is alive but dead to the world.
> 
> Round one, fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
> 
> Edited, once again at 3am. Cause I hate myself.
> 
> Roast my chops

A soft flow of wind. No light in the scope. Guards are on duty, but still blind to the storm above them. The shot is ready. Even if she lacks experience in sniping, not from lack of trying mind you, even Tracer could make this shot.

'Okay, remember. Slow breathing,' the assassin thinks to herself. 'Steady hands, lie down on your belly, let the bipod do the talking.' Her thoughts continue, reminding her of the lessons she was given a long time ago.

Ripcord, the spotter is on the back left, if Tracer misses he hopefully won't. He's busy trying to activate an experimental cloaking field though, so the pressure is on Tracer.

"Here he is, man of the hour," Tracer says into the mic, barely letting it sound out louder than a Flys wings. "Quit fidgeting I can hear you from here. If we blow this cause of you, I'll detonate you." She threatens, knowing that he knows full well what that means.

"Ma'am." The spotter responds curtly, no inflections in his voice. He terrified, and definitely trying to hide it.

\-----

The detective let her FieldKit goggles stay over her eyes to keep track on the spotter. Even still, he had less than half of her attention. Her attention was almost fully on the murderer before her.

Certainly, she could hear the spotter fidgeting, shaking. Certainly she could her the flap of a bugs wings on the roof across the street. Certainly, any disturbance would startle the assassin.

But the detective isn't a disturbance, she's hardly a gust of wind. Every single move closely calculated and planned. Every breath reserved and slowed, her heartbeat following suit. Nothing about the detective would give the impression of 'alive'. figuratively or literally. She had the pulse of a rock, and a heart just as heavy. 

She hated killing, but if any justice can be served some injustice must be doled as well. At one time she'd hoped she could move on from this. She'd genuinely tried, to escape this endless roundabout path of kill, then be killed.

Then at Swiss HQ, the burned crater of a bunker, she tore open an old forgotten locker. She'd found a dusty old jacket, and some hideous orange goggles. She swore that If anything, Lena would want to see justice done for her mentor.

Amelie, the Widow, detective, whatever she went by at the time. She would be that justice.

\-----

Mondatta had just arrived, and was taking stage. Tracer's ready and every safety was off, her gun's, her mind's.

The trigger barely twitched when.

"Lovely night, wouldn't you agree?" A single voice chimed out on the lonely rooftop, run through a voice distortion device.

"Real killer weather, though. London rain never was my strong suit." The voice continued.

Tracer doesn't look away from her scope, not keen on disappointing her employers. She flicks on the choker around her neck, her own voice distorts away as well.

"I guess you could say the weather is less than charming, yes. Would you mind identifying yourself."

The detective shakes her head, despite knowing the assassin couldn't see the gesture. "See, I have a rough problem right now."

"Oh my, time to hear a random strangers problem, Yay Me." Tracer responds trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, still attempting to line up a shot, this monk could work a stage. He just wouldn't stop pacing.

"You see love, a while ago, a friend of mine was hurt, hurt real bad."

"Oh DO go on, what a droll story." She let's out, practically blurring it.

"See, six Pulse-munition based explosives tend to sting, just a teensy tiny bit." The detective drawls out, leaning onto a chimney next to the assassin.

"Whoever this is, you'll have to be more specific, I've used Pulse Bombs a lot in my time," She'd known what this was about even when the wannabe hero asked about the weather. "You heroes are always this predictable, show up, ruin a perfectly good kill, bother me more with monologue."

"So, just down to business then, eh my dear?" The hero rings out, almost entertained.

"My name is blank Mcblahblahblah , you killed my blah blah blah, prepare to die." Tracer mocks.

"I'm here about Gèrard Lacroix, you must be the killer, a certain quartermaster named Gonzales proves it."

 

Tracer, still trying to line up a fair shot, almost didn't catch the second half of the statement. "Mmm. A Coward in our midst then, thank you 'hero' I'll be sure to end him when I get back." She replies, sneering out the word 'hero'. "But, one thing interests me in your little revelation there. Gèrard Lacroix, he has no one left to avenge him, so who are you?"

Before Tracer can lift her head from the scope, a dizzying kick to her side sends her rolling. The detective makes for another attack, a real stunner. An impact knuckle flips down over the detectives glove on her gauntlet hand. Ready to deliver a single powerful punch to her enemy, she shows no mercy.

Tracer thinks for a split second, not even a  thought, an instinct. As that instinct moves quick as a bolt, time slows to a crawl from her view. I'm truth though, time wasn't slowing, she had begun moving too fast for time to catch her.

In a sudden bolt of light, the stream of red following Tracer along her path upward. She's now hanging just above the detectives head. Ready to strike. 

Time speeds back to its normal pace, Tracer starts on her way down as the detectives fist drives onto the concrete of the roof with a crunch. The detective is unready, trying to pull her fist out as tracers own slams down into her head. The blow is enough to warrant a sharp cry of pain from the detective.

Tracer darts backwards to her rifle, ready to do battle. She turns to her weapon lying on the ground beside her. Turning her back even for the tiniest of moments provides as her worst error of the night. The detective slams her knuckles into tracers back sending her over the rifle and into an air conditioner unit a few feey away. The power in that punch enough to make even the detective to recoil in pain.

Tracer, recovering from the small bout turns to her new prey. Even though this one isn't the target, she's the next head on Tracer's shitlist tonight.

"You have quite the punching arm, you a boxer?" Tracer tries her best not to sound exhausted already.

"No, soldier. U.N. needed numbers back in 72' so I trained up," the detective explains, she knows it doesn't matter, Tracer'll be dead by sunrise. "And anyway, that's an uncommon ability you have yourself. Teleportation? Time manipulation?"

"As if I'd tell prey!" Tracer shouts, not wanting to talk too much anymore. Now recovered a bit, she lunges forward at the detective.

The response is several darts fired out of the detectives gauntlet, not at Tracer though. The darts are sent into the surrounding area. Tracer's attacks are all sloppy and predictable, the detective could see her coming a mile away. Every blow dodged, each move made bare by the detectives analytical eyes.

"Stand still, you slippery little-" in the detectives first successful strike, her palm lands over Tracer's cheek.

Reeling from the blow, Tracer backs off. She needs to rethink this.

'This opponent probably isn't used to fighting a teleporter like me, judging by her reaction to my first blink. I'll use that.' The Tracer formulates her plan, ready to take her pound of flesh from her prey.

The detective was expecting more, the assassin that killed Gèrard had seemingly no experience fighting hand to hand. She also seems almost useless without any guns. Though she has plenty. The detective has counted six pistols spread out on different holsters over Tracer's uniform. She must be trying to be fancy, make a show.

"I can tell you wouldn't think of shooting me, my dear," the detective taunts. "Are ya having a bit more fun the you expected?"

Tracer recoils, she's shocked that she's absolutely right. Tracer is having fun. This is the most fun thing to happen in a while. Their encounter has been going on for little more than a minute now, but this is fun.

"Oh dear, I seem to have called that one." The detective continues.

"Oh yeah, this is too fun to quit now. It's like sex, a good fight is, you just never seem to want to stop." Tracer responds.

The assassin makes her next move, blinking behind the detective, delivering a single punch to her lower back.

The detective almost spins, letting her elbow do the talking now, only to find empty air.

Tracer zips behind her again to deliver her second blow.

The detective falters, but still turns to let out her punch. She stops short, and turns back around to stop the next assault.

Suddenly, Tracer appears above her, slamming down hard into the detectives head. 

The detective slowly stands, waiting for the next onslaught.

With a jolt of red, and a streak of light, Tracer starts in again. First behind the detective, putting in one blow to the back.

The response, an elbow. Another bolt of red, another missed opportunity.

The two kept to this rhythm, single blow, missed riposte, single blow, missed riposte. They began moving about the roof now, from one corner to the next in their dance of blows and dodges. Both letting themselves be consumed by a silent music that guided drove them both to kept fighting.

Now in a corner, the detective lashes forward, knowing there's nowhere behind herself to be ambushed from.

Her blow is quick, but devistating. A single punch sending Tracer backwards again, to the middle of the roof.

The detective let out a small sigh of exhaustion. Both are already getting worn out.

"You lecture me about wanting to fight, avenger. But I see it there. In your eye," Tracer begins. "You don't want to stop, not now, not ever. You're a real fighter too, aren't you?"

The detective is taken back. She was expecting more desperate teleportation attacks. Though the ability shocked her, it's already old hat in the hands of a predictable child of a fighter.

"Oh I see it now, avenger. I see that twinkle, you want me dead, and you want it bad," Tracer continues. "But, what fun we both are. Here's the deal now, tell me what to call you. I want to kill a face to a name!"

"Oh? And will you reveal yourself to me? An odd strategy for an assassin."

"I am Tracer, this tactical visor, and this distorted voice ARE my name. But what is yours?"

The detective thinks it over for a short moment. The name she'd held in her previous life meant little to her now, she's just a tool for justice.

"Hmmm, I had a codename back in the U.N. special legion. You can call me... The Widow!" She answers with a snap.

"Excellent!" Tracer responds, she's sure she's heard that name before, but where? It doesn't matter. She's already dead.

The Widow nods to her opponent, signalling the next little match in their small battle atop the unsuspecting city below.

Tracer bolts forward again, ready to deliver her usual blows. Slams her breaks behind Widow. Before she can reach forward to punch however, Widow kicks back, making Tracer reposition.

Tracer bolts forward, once again ready for her punches to connect, but is cut short by Widows fist to the face. She'd learned her pattern, she won't be fooled a third time. Widows punch puts Tracer onto the ground at Widows feet.

Tracer jumps up, putting her fist forward Into Widows stomach, she expects a pained reaction. She's payed only with another fist to the face, making her flat onto the ground once again.

"Now, let's put a face to that voice shall we?" Widow declares, her hand approaching Tracers mask intent on tearing it off.

A sudden force takes Widow off of her feet and Into the gravel a few feet away. The spotter had come out from his hiding hole to take down the attacker.

"Tracer! Hurry take your shot! I've radioed for exfil, and we can't go back with a failed mission!" The spotter warns, only to be cut off by a fist to the head.

"Right then, thank you Ripcord. I won't detonate you later, just this once!" Tracer replies, scooping up her rifle and looking down its sights. Mondatta was now standing still on the stage, practically begging for a 50. Cal to the head casing. Tracer needs to get herself ready though, she can't make the shot in one quick instant. Breathing, wind check, bipod. It'll be a second or two, with a truly worthy pay-off of a job well done.

Widow notices the assassin about to take her shot.

'I won't let her take another life! Kill her now!' She thinks to herself, still struggling with the spotter above her.

"Dammit, wanted to use these on her!" Widow shouts, holding her balled up fist out.

The spotter slightly confused looks at her hand, not knowing what secret weapon she could be hiding.

Her thumb closes down onto the side of her index finger with a click.

'What weapon could she be hidin?' The spotter thinks quickly to himself.

The darts, the darts Widow had fired earlier, at the start of her fight with Tracer. She'd fired several darts into the surrounding area. The darts themselves all carry small hardlight projectors that spout hardlight wires to the desired target.

The target right now is the spotter, the darts take their aim, and wind the spotter up into a web of hardlight grappling hooks. He's raised off of Widow and into the air above the roof.

Tracer is about to take her shot before a small knife stabs into the side of her gun's bolt. 

The knife blinks with a small blue light, indicating the device hidden within. Tracer, not wanting to deal with that, throws her rifle aside, the knife explodes making her rifle completely useless.

"Ripcord!" The assassin shouts, turning back to her spotter. "Plan B let move-" She stops at the sight of her spotter riddled with darts in non-fatal spots. He's stuck, but alive.

'The hero, eyes up. Where'd she go.' Her thoughts slowly collecting. 'Where's that one gone'

"The guards are alerted to your presence," The hero starts, now above the assassin shrouded by the light of the moon. "The first clue was my knife destroying your gun, the second was me. Check the emergency comms."

A quick flip of her headset dial reveals it to be true, Mondatta is already on the move. 'Plan E then.' The assassin thinks to herself.

"Remember my dear new friend, this is your doing," Tracer looks up to her pursuer. "This is on you."

The hero is confused to say the least, her bases were covered. Her FieldKit confirms that not further assassins are due to arrive anytime soon.

Just when the guesses were running thin, Tracer produces a small switch from her belt. A detonator, the small click covered instantly by the following explosion that could be seen from the seven city-block distance.

Horror struck over the Widow's face, she'd failed. The assassin had won. This is indeed Widow's fault, she let this happen.

Widow looks back to a letter she had sent through to Mondatta. A letter couried by a certain religious leaders brother.

 Televise. No crowds. Assassin. A violent one.

There certainly was no crowd, no innocent lives to pluck short. None save for Mondatta himself.

Pluck his life short is what Tracer had done. The pulse bomb in his transport made short work of him and his guards. 

"See, that wasn't me, all you had to do is let me shoot him," Tracer taunts, knowing the civilian crowd would have destroyed this would-be-hero.

"He wasn't my focus tonight, you were. Now there's half of my night off my mind." Widow answer, face now made of iron.

"Ohoho, I see some fight in you now."

"I'm not going to play with you this time."

"Neither will I, hero."

Widow smiles at that, she'd hoped she wasn't holding back during the first round. A challenge fitting of the task at hand, revenge for her former love, and for Mondatta. "Round two, 'darling'."

"A lovely plan, friend." She's ready for this. Tracer was trained as an anti-hero weapon. She was made for this, to inflict a fallen hero onto the world.

The two clash once again, a flurry of feet and elbows, a medley of fists and blades. The two fought as if the other needed to fall. The two let themselves be consumed into their fighting. The two would die before they let someone else take their prey. They belonged to one another, they needed one another.

Such a storm of a battle couldn't be held by one rooftop. The two moved to the next one, then another. They could move from building to building for the rest of the night. Their battle happening above the assassination scene.

\-----

Spain. 6 years ago.

"How much sugar, my love?" Amèlie had just woke up, and was ready for at least another day of standing around waiting for something to happen. Anything. It'd been a few days since Ana left the safehouse for her next job and the two miss her like she were their mother.

"I know you won't put in as much as I want, love. I'll do it." Lena replies, following Amèlie into the kitchen still dazed at the morning sunlight. She's obviously not used to getting up this early.

"If didn't make your tea into a sugary mud then just maybe I would." She wasn't joking, Lena stumbled to the counter, still tired, to make some good ol' mornin' tea. Or rather like what Amèlie'd said earlier, a sugary mud in her mug.

This was peaceful, or as peaceful as it could get for them. The safehouse is stocked, the area is secluded. Nothing could go wrong.

The previous night the two agreed to get up early to watch the sun rise over a nearby farm. Amèlie had little else to do, so she decided to plant an acorn in the soil down by the road. As such she took a tree seed of some type from this location to plant later.

The sun fully peaks over the horizon, the slightly blue glass of the Spanish safehouse making for a mesmerizing green light peering Into the front room.

'I could let this last.' Amèlie thinks.

'I wouldn't mind things being like this for a while.' Lena's thought almost matching Amèlie's.

The two were huddled on the couch togeher, sipping Earl Grey to a blazing green sunrise. The two seemingly didn't notice their new habit of constant contact. The last safehouse had no heating, so huddling was a must. A must that became a redundancy, but was still there.

"Why can't it just be like this, love?" Lena softly asks, breaking the silence. 

"Why do we have to go back to a world that wants us dead?" Amèlie offers, finishing Lena's thought.

"Yeah, this is fine," Lena states, trying to sound casual. "I'm still sleepy, wake me when it's time for food, love." She asks, tucking closer to Amèlie.

"Of course, mon trèsor," Amèlie starts, already lost in warmth and comfort, she wanted this never to end. "I'll always be here for you."

\-----

The gravel of the roof shook, two warriors locked in a stalemate. 

One almost incapable of injuring her far too skilled enemy. 

The other, not fast enough to damage her enemy before it's wounds heal.

"Round 3, darling?" Widow asks.

"I count round 5, but yes. Let's keep it up."

And with that, the two continue in their quiet battle atop a loud city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still thinking on the title. Any suggestions are welcome as all hell.


	5. A Story About Coming Down From A High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-coitus meeting with the bosses, Widow doesn't know what it feels like to be normal anymore. More background fluff to make up for Edgy Wife and Evil Speedy Hipster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hah. Hah. I'm dead. New job, new roomate, busy schedule, 45hrs a week 6 days a week doesn't leave much time to write!
> 
> buuuuuttttttt I'm like a roach, so time to fucken roll with it.
> 
> Here. Have a bit more Backstory and a rushed ending to a #ClassicFight

The Bugatti Veryon Classical 2067, Throwback Edition. A masterpiece of a vehicle. Taken care of by its obviously rich owner, the car is parked just outside of a trendy apartment in Kings Row.

With its true leather seats, a rare luxury in these days. With its solid titanium body, an even rarer commodity for anything civilian. This car is more than just a car. It is a work of modern art!

\-----

Tracer falls from her rooftop, her dance temporarily interrupted. She falls and lands on some euro-super-car, shattering the windows, denting the metal frame. She's dazed and wonders what pompous ass drives this waste of space and cash.

'Eh, I probably would.' She thinks to herself, before hammering her recall.

In a flash of red she's sent back up onto the roof, her dance partner still waiting.

"So, it is time manipulation." Her dear new 'friend' states.

Tracer glares, her patience wearing thin. Exfil is late, Ripcord is nowhere to be seen. Her partner is getting closer and closer to beating her. She needs to rest, her healing factor is running thin.

"That's quite the sharp look!" The Widow shouts as she pounces forward, fist first, not wanting to let her rest for a second.

The two continue their dance in as graceful a manner as usual.

Blow for blow this is exactly what it was, a dance. At this moment the two felt as though they knew each other better than they knew themslves.

Another fist slamming into Tracer's visor. Another knee to Widow's stomach. They were both vicious in their own attacks and patterns.

They both back away, catching breath and nursing wounds.

"So, I've been meaning to ask," Tracer starts, not wanting awkward silence fill the in-betweens of their battle. "Why so willing to fight so desperately, especially in vengeance for some bastard like Lacroix?"

"Long story, maybe a bit shorter than I care to admit though," Widow answers, knowing Tracer must be stalling. "You trying to distract me, my dear?"

"Why can't I have an innocent conversation without someone being suspect of me?" Tracer asks, feigning innocence. "I'm just trying to keep this interesting."

Without hesitation, Widow unleashes her next barrage. Throwing punches, tossing knives and darts here and what way. Tracer sees the web Widow's making. The next rooftop is Tracer's only chance, with a hop, a blink and a hard landing, she's away from the death trap of the last roof.

They're now at the start, her rifle lay destroyed, Ripcord gone, exfil nowhere in sight. To Tracer this was getting too close to call. 

With a quiet, graceful landing, Widow was already upon Tracer, ready to keep this up.

This is it, Tracer had nowhere else to go. Widow looks down to Tracer, her enemy small now, smaller than she'd expected. She'd wanted something satisfying, some grand fight in the public eye, to get revenge for the world to see. But this is what she got, a chase across the silent tops of London, and little more than a few cuts and bruises.

"Tell me, slow or fast, my dear." Widow asks her shrunken foe.

"You giving me the choices now? How kind of some mindless revenge seeking machine." She wasn't sure if insulting her foe would work or not, but she's desperate. She needs something to buy her time, having her back facing her enemy isn't ideal Tracer's usual element.

"More distractions, dear. Try not to do that too much." Widow requests.

Tracer jumps backward, sending her elbow into Widow's nose, her first real strike of the night. All others were small fast jabs. This one made Widow recoil.

"How's that for a distraction, 'my dear' do tell." Tracer asks, spitting out a mouthful of blood that spills out from her visor. Her healing factor is at its limit.

Pulling herself back up, Widow faces her enemy again, her white scarf over her face  now red with the blood from her nose. "Still have some bite in you then." With a jolt Widow's leg slams Tracer's head back, into a chimney nearby.

Widow isn't even close to done, her 'wounds' are all superficial to say the worst, to Widow it was nothing a band-aid won't fix. 

Tracer on the other hand, was visibly hurt. That is the very least to be said of her condition. A broken leg, three ribs cracked, jaw knocked loose, twice. Under her mask, she sports a black eye and a bleeding brow that covers her vision on her left side. Tracer was no longer in any shape to fight. This is the end of her healing factor for the night.

"Now, I'll ask you again. Fast or slow?" Widow asks, repositioning her broken nose through her scarf with a loud snap.

"I'll have--" Tracer stops, having almost vomited, she's terrified. This new enemy is in the very least some kind of super-soldier.

"I'll have you on the pavement, friend." Tracer chokes out, finishing her statement.

Widow seems unimpressed by this, she expected a bit more than this. This was almost embarrassing, the enemy that killed her ex-husband was resorting to insults and smack-talk.

Before Widow can make some witty retort, any retort at all, a knife jams into her side.

Ripcord is almost as surprised as Widow is, he'd expected to be dead before he got this close. The trap the hero set earlier made it clear that she knows what she's doing.

Widow buckles to one knee, allowing Ripcord to see his partner. 

"Tracer gather yourself, exfil is here!" Ripcord yells, a silent ship appears above the rooftop, uncloaking itself so the agents could board. The only problem now, was the monster of a hero that won't let them go without a fight.

Tracer knows what will have to happen, one of them will have to distract the hero while the other escapes.

Exfil radios down, "Hurry it up, bosses want a report ASAP!"

Tracer bolts upward, into the back of the low flying ship, rolling onto the ship's floor. Ripcord is about to jump when a hand drags him back down, Widow is more than not done with either of them.

"Exfil, I'm still down on the roof! Don't leave yet!" Ripcord begs into his mic. Tracer's visor is destroyed, only good for a Halloween mask at this point, she can't belay that order.

Widow slams a single fist into the back of Ripcord's neck with a crack.

Tracer turns to the ships comm, "Exfil get us out of here," She asks calmly, too worn to bark her orders. She knows the hero is watching. Turning to her assailant she regards her. "I hope to see you again, hero."

With a huff, Widow knows she's lost her prey, she jumped it. She toyed with her too much, she practically let her go. "Adieu, chèrie."

A statement that forces Tracer to flinch, a familiar feeling creeps up on the agent. One she pushes down like the rest.

With a hiss and a jolt, the door shut and the ship pulls away on a path back to their base.

Ripcord has already bit into a cyanide capsule in his molar. Widow knew it, Tracer seemed to have too much free will to be a full sleeper agent, but this one, this one is fully reconditioned.

Before she can try to shoot a tracker onto the talon ship, it's cloaked and gone.

Authorities have already found the rooftop where the nights battle took place. Two helicopters sporting searchlights arrive on the scene. Widow drops a plume bomb, and the entire roof of covered in a thick blue smoke.

By the time search parties arrive, every trace of the Widow is gone, knives, darts, plume canister. All that's left is a destroyed sniper rifle, an unidentified body, and blood samples diluted by spray ammonia.

\-----

Rome, Italy. 8 years ago

It'd been a few weeks since the traveling pair had left the Madrid safehouse, and still the two seemed unable to settle in at their new temporary home.

Maybe it was the view? Or the lack thereof. The brick wall outside the bedroom window wasn't feeding a fun travelly spirit. It more reminded them that they were still in fact running from enemies left and right.

Lena sticks her arms into the air and starts flailing around the bed in a huff of irritation.

"Why!??" She asks the seemingly thin empty air.

"Why do we get this... trash house in the "sticks" You asks?" Amèlie asks, once again finishing Lena's question before she can.

"Yeah! You get it! This place sucks!" Lena says, unsurprised by her lovers sudden arrival. Amèlie had been lurking in a dark corner of the room, not wanting to disturb Lena but also wanting to watch her go about her short morning on the ratty bed.

"Maybe it's just the "whiplash"? Our last house was actually rather nice. Nicer than my home atleast." Amèlie offers, leaning forward from her chair. The sun is starting to rise finally, allowing a small candle of light into the blocked off room.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm hrump!" Lena seeming bent on pronouncing every part of her displeasure. "Why don't we actually go and do stuff? We never even got to see Madrid! This time we actually have stuff to do!" Lena suggests, almost thinking Amèlie would say no.

Almost.

"I had spent a week here once, I know just the place for early tea. I'll get a cab. You get dressed." Amèlie responds nonchalantly, trying not to burn alive. This isn't some fooling around or the usual cuddle. This is actually a Real Date.

"Alrighty!" Lena shouts, bolting out from under the covers, stark arsed and ready for a day with the flower before her.

Hopefully the two can do something without something stupid happening every 34-- exactly-- 34 seconds.

Lena looks around their room, her clothes indistinguishable among the pile. Which was hers, which wasn't?

'Whatever, who wears underwear nowadays anyway? Amèlie's like three sizes up right?' She thinks to herself. 

'Eh, it's only three sizes.' She confirms, throwing on one of Amèlie's slightly-too-big sweater dresses, then her RAF jacket.

'It'll be a whole day so I may as well be warm.'

\------

Tracer slams into a conference room in an undisclosed location. She's still wounded from her battle in London, but that's not going to distract her.

"Who in the hell was THAT?" Is all she can think to ask, not wanting to drag this on with quips and wit.

The board of strategy and defense for Talon have already gathered and had been expecting her. The first of the seven person group leans forward to answer. 

"She is a rogue, a neutral factor."

"There's more. I know it. Don't leave me in the dark on this one." Tracer responds, not satisfied by the answer.

Another member of the board leans forward beside the first. "That was the Widow. A former UN special operative gone rogue. Earlier we had our suspicions that she had given up the battlefield, obviously this was untrue."

The first member of the board activates a display at the head of the table, revealing the agent that Tracer had fought this night in various battlefields across the globe.

"Russia, Australia, Brazil, Germany. She's been credited for over 50 operations in her career. She's beyond what we would consider a dangerous threat."

Tracer watches the screen closely, watching might provide her insight.

She watches as the agent does Inhuman feats of strength and stamina. Sprinting the marathon to deliver a 200lb package, leaping from building to building in combat gear like a professional free runner, bare fisted punching the face plate off of a Bastion units head.

Tall, strong, fast and smart, the agent before Tracer's eyes is the picture of a flawless soldier. Though she keeps her face covered, Tracer recognized her immediately from her fighting style and built muscular figure.

Tracer's eye twitches in irritation at the very sight of the agent.

"Any reason I wasn't warned about her?" Tracer asks, tapping a foot impatiently.

"None of us could have predicted her return." A third member appears beside the first two.

"She was at large until two years ago. After that, she settled down with mere detective work. But, as we've said, she was rogue. No one would claim responsibility for her actions."

Tracer is a tad less steamed up now that she has a bit of clarity. "Was she Overwatch, only they could produce a soldier like that." She asks, now moving forward in an attempt at dominance.

"Not that we know of. She's been on the bad side of several former heroes of Overwatch, picking fights with the likes of Torbjörn Lindholm, and Angela Ziegler."

"Send me everything you have on her. She's my prey now." Tracer orders with a huff of irritation, turning to leave before she gets bogged down and bored. "She's been seen fighting those bastard Overwatch agents, but that doesn't make her my friend."

And with her last words spoken, she's gone.

'Calm down, think straight.' She knows she can't rush into this.

She knows she can't win without a sharp edge

\-----

Rome, Italy 8 years ago

"OK imagine it, if you could stop time, you could do ANYTHING." Lena says with unmistakable enthusiasm.

Amèlie stops to consider this before her answer. "Yes, but if you were bulletproof, no one in the world could stop you."

The two having recently watched some old superhero movies now seem content with talking about useful superpowers.

"You didn't say fire proof?" Lena offers.

"No no, chèrie, bulletproof like Luke Cage. So... all-proof."

"No but imagine, your bulletproof vs my timestop, I could just attack a buncha times and put you down right there."

A stewardess slides their bill onto their table, and shuffles off quietly.

"To be continued, Lacroix." Lena declares, before standing to pay her Date Bill.

From the corner of Lena's eye however, she can see two men sitting at a window seat at the front of the cafe. They aren't eating, not drinking, only watching.

Lena turns back to her table, "Ohoho rights, forgot the wallet!" She says with her usual chipper voice, while also gesturing with her eyes. Darting from Amèlie back to the men at the window.

Amèlie knows what's happening in only a seconds notice. 

Lena grabs her wallet and makes a short beeline to the register.

Amèlie follows suit, carrying both of their fresh piping hot teas.

The two men stand up and at Amèlie's first impression, they're both much larger than either could handle alone. But neither are alone right now.

Lena passes a bill to the host, who's sweating in the 60° room.

The rest of the patrons suddenly become quiet, the barista slows their pace.

The entire cafe slows to a crawl from its previous rush hour pace.

Lena turns to Amèlie with a short nod.

Both completely focused on each other, and the men making their way toward them.

"NOW" Lena yells, losing her sunshine lollipop and rainbows tone to her voice.

In a split of a second, Amèlie tosses their boiling tea into the closest suited man, then flipping a table onto the second.

Lena vaults over one table, then another to get to Amèlie. With the men distracted, the two bolt for the door. Only to be stopped by one of the other patrons, who is now holding a suppressed pistol. One not typically given to mere do-gooders on the street.

Lena slides forward, catching the new threat off guard for Amèlie who bolts straight past him and out the door.

Lena's slide halts a few inches in front of the "patron" as she shoves her foot into his not-to-mentions. He recoils before aiming his gun right back down at Lena, who had thought the attack was enough.

"Join or die, Oxton." The man states, making Lena remember Gèrard's warning from before.

The guns hammer is pulled back to warn her to choose fast, before one of the patio chairs smashes the assassins head in. 

Lena can only look in awe, before Amèlie dashes forward.

"Let's go, this place is a bit crowded for me." Amelie orders nonchalantly, noticing the two men recovering just behind Lena. She drags Lena to her feet and the two make a sudden mad scramble into the busy street outside.

Lena takes to Amèlie's side as fast as a bullet, disappointed to be beaten to the one-liner.

With little to no resistance or trouble, the two disappear into the crowd.

Off to their next adventure.

\-----

"Minerva."

Widow is, to say the least, a tad angry. Her prey disappeared into the night, the police are in pursuit, and she's certain her left arm is out of socket.

Not only is her revenge taking a rain check, but her one liners skills haven't increased whatsoever.

She scowls at what she told the assassin before it left. "Adieu, chèrie. How lame."

The FieldKit flickers on with a red glare, her AI "companion" appears with a flash of Greco-Roman sigils and signs. The light barely lighting the small hotel bathroom they're in.

"I haven't found anything, save for their ship model. An experimental stealth troop carrier of-" Widow snaps her fingers once to cut off on of the AI's long description.

"Anything on the battlenet?"

"Nothing."

"Make reservations, I'm headed to Gibraltar." Widow orders sternly.

"Of course."

Widow flicks the power off for her device, ready to move at a moments notice.

The red light flickers on again, Minerva reappears suddenly.

"It's come to my attention that another seemingly missing factor is also making reservations for Gibraltar."

Widow almost seems interested as she pops her arm back into place against the wall of her bathroom, then checks her nose and ribs.

"Well, who is it?" Widow asks, now satisfied in her condition. With two brisk movements she's out of the bathroom and onto a bed, FieldKit in hand.

"The Angel of Mercy."

The last callsign Widow wanted to hear, atleast not that she's returned to the fray so soon, it'd only been a few months since Widow captured her.

"How did she escape? The prison the UN set for her is unbreakable, hardlight containment." Widow asks, worried for the lives of those she must have ended to escape.

"Unknown, but she is on her way to Gibraltar now. Her flight left twenty minutes ago." Minerva answers, uncaring of Widow's worried expression. "I suggest you get sleep on the plane for a change, you'll need it if she comes in force."

With no more to report or "suggest" Minerva signs off, leaving Widow alone to nurse wounds in silence in the tiny hotel room.

Widows nose is atleast straight, she stands to assess herself in the mirror.

She's black and blue in spots she hadn't realised had been hit, her left eye is bloodshot and her arm might be broken. 

"Atleast you're alive, love." Widow tells herself into the mirror.

\-----

Illios, Greece 8 years ago

Lena makes a sudden slump down onto their couch, she's worn out from a risky escape from some rather-not-nice goons. More than likely talon.

Amèlie barely has her shoes off before jumping and landing directly on top of the smaller woman.

Lena let's out a slightly strained groan, too tired to do much more.

"That could have been softer, babe." Lena says, worn out still.

Amèlie doesn't even say anything, just a confirming hum. Before resting her head on Lena's chest, Lena's calming heart giving the same calm to Amèlie's.

"Hey, Lookit it this way," Lena says, lifting Amèlie's chin up to look at her through tired eyes. "Atleast you're alive, love."

Lena's beaming smile drives the last nail in Amèlie's coffin, she went from relaxed, to down right sleepy.

"Don't wake me, chèrie." Amèlie says, eyes fluttering shut.

"I was gonna say the same."

It's twelve noon, and the two enjoy a nap on a couch, in a safehouse on the side of Grecian cliffs.

\-----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha I tried at least.


	6. A Story About The Calm Between Tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracer's got work, Widow's up to getting the band back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, sorry this one is so damn short! Hope yall have a lovely one tho!

Widow's plane is only enough to seat one, so her small journey from Spain to Gibraltar was quiet. Not quiet enough to warrant a 'too quiet' but still peaceful.

A nice break from her usual world of murder mystery, omnic war, and time travelling asshole snipers.

She could breathe this, the peace.

'The sky is close and the water is beautiful, what a Lena thing to say.'

'What a calm before a storm,' She thinks. 'The heroes at Gibraltar might not all like me being there.'

The plane jiggles along in the sky, quiet but shaky. This is the only plane that an enemy can't track.

Without a lesson or two from Lena, Widow  would have to call in a favor or two. Favors being the currency of the realm, she's none too fond of wasting them.

'If Ziegler is back on the board then I can't waste what contacts I have.'

The wind picks up, Gibraltar peers across the horizon and into view.

'Let's get this over with.'

\-----

Tracer sits from her bed, cuts and bruises still healing.

The bulk of what she can comprehend at the moment being the lump of a headache growing.

"Octo." Tracer speaks, breaking the silence in her room.

No answer.

"Octo."

...

...

...

Tracer let's out a groan, "Octavius..."

With a small flash and a series of digital noses, a screen appears.

"Finally awake? Good. We have work."

"Report," Tracer demands, eyes barely open as she stumbles toward her small washroom. "I'm getting claustrophobia, so talk fast."

"We have a job coming in from Vishkar, an asset on the loose. They want their property back. Tier 7 importance."

Tracer grabs her tooth brush and starts in on her wash-up. She brushes both sides and center before the first droplet of water leaves the brush.

"Utopea is on full red alert lockdown and are searching for the asset."

Tracer spits out her last rinse, then examines herself.

She rubs her gaunt, pail cheeks to see if any cuts remain. She gives her cheek a quick slap, to try and rise a blush, to no avail. Her skin remains as pail a lifeless as usual.

"You'll have full clearance on weapons, no restrictions."

With one smooth movement she's out for her clothes and into the shower.

In a flash of red light, Tracer is lathered, scrubbed, rinsed, and dried.

"The rest of the details are on your visor. Transport, equipment, and game plan are left to your discretion. Good luck, agent."

Tracer let's out a breath, she's alone again.

With a blink, she's already fully suited and armed, ready for whatever this place can throw at her next.

She opens her gray door, leaving her gray room, and steps into the gray hall outside. Briefing file in hand, she makes her usual unguided walk to the hangars.

No breakfast like before.

Three hours of sleep being more than enough.

Talon made sure she could run efficiently on minimum care. A surgery here, a gene modification there, and Tracer is the model of a perfect soldier.

She opens the file, still walking at break neck pace, a usual soldiers sprint in her slow crawl.

The first words she reads: MISSING PROPERTY, RECOVER AND RETURN.

PROPERTY: Satya Vaswani, Hardlight Engineer.

Tracer's eye twitches slightly as she stops in her tracks with a screech.

A person.

The property for retrieval is a living, breathing human.

'You're the good guy,' She thinks to herself. 'Talon and Vishkar are fixing the world.'

'We're the good guys.'

With that tiny reminder, all other thoughts are dashed, doubts gone.

"Let's get this asset, then." She states to the empty 3am hall.

\-----

London, England 6 years ago.

The line of soldiers all stand on attention, all recruits drafted onto their respective programs, ready for their first action or lack thereof.

The CO steps ceremoniously out into the line, looking across what she has to work with.

"Every. Single. One of you."

A soldier gulps loud enough for the entire base to hear.

"Every one of you make me sick."

The soldiers slightly tense.

"All of you. Skinny little Fucks trying to carve your own piece of history."

The CO's voice low, calm, and practiced. She's not yelling, but she's loud enough for all fifty soldiers to hear.

"You," She states, venom visibly dripping from her words. "What's your name."

She starts at the end and slowly works her way up, getting names and IDs.

Slowly but surely making her way to the end.

The last soldier in line being the only one among the bunch that seems unafraid of the CO.

Her arm broken and put up onto a sling, she's bruised and cut as if she were put through a blender.

"And you're..." The CO stops, examining the soldier fully. "How were you even cleared for training?"

"Special case, ma'am." The soldiers replies.

"Oh, a frenchy then. Course' you're a special case," the CO gives a glance across the other soldiers. They're all giving small smirks and chuckles here and there.

They know the French one's going down first.

They think they do.

"What's your name?"

The soldier loses her slouch, disregarding her wounds to stand tall and proud as a hero once did for her.

"Oxton, ma'am. Amèlie Oxton."

\-----

Widow steps into a long empty meeting room.

'No one's here, if this were a trap-'

"Ah, so I WAS in fact the first one here!" A daunting voice chimes out from a dark corner of the room.

For a change of pace, Widow feels like the fly, rather than the spider.

From the corner steps a familiar face, clad in solid white and purple armor.

Angela Ziegler, her horns sticking upward with a small ball of purple flame resting between them. Her tail cracking like a whip as she makes her way toward the frozen detective.

"Oh, mein Schatz. Don't be scared."

Widow can feel her breath, her freezing cold breath, as it marks her like it did the last time the two were together.

She still has some of the marks and scars from last time. Angela's 'gentle' equated to the modern soldiers war crime.

"Your guardian angel is here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! Cliff Hanger 2x Combo
> 
> get rekt


	7. A Story About The Road To Hero pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amèlie's road to hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amelie is a mess, Tracer has her own self help things, Reinhardts here!
> 
> the gangs limping back together slowly too!

575 m. Above Utopea

A familiar hiss fills the back cabin of the airships as the doors open. Tracer makes her first step forward, looking to the city below her, the target hidden among the forest of hardlight buildings.

"Ok, boss. We'll be back in three days. Make sure everything is squared away by then." A Talon agent reports through the comms.

"Understood, dropping in three."

The agents in the back cabin look amongst each other in confusion.

"Two."

"Boss, you can't-"

"One." With no more than a step forward, Tracer is sent flying into the air currents surrounding the airships.

Her fellow agents watch in awe while she twirls and spins down to the city.

The air currents make enough noise to block her voice out, enough so only she can hear herself. Her cheers and whoops and cries flying to the wind.

Tracer makes a slide along a building to make an acrobatic pirouette, then a blink to make for a soft landing atop the opposite building.

Tracer looks about, ensuring no one else could be near. With confidence that she were alone, she brings her hand to her earpiece.

"Going radio silent, hear from you in 72. Out."

"We've got you, Tracer. Sidewinder out."

With her business with her co-workers finally cleared away, and the chance of rogue detectives laying the beat down on her, she draws a recorder.

A small, undetectable tape recorder. Analog tape so no tech could track it.

She clicks the record button, and makes a small pause before starting.

'Finally out and about, then.' She thinks.

"Hellllllooooooo! Tracer here, if you're listening to this I'm dead, dying or both! Or! You're me! Listening to some good solo jobs!"

She twirls on her heel as she continues forward, toward the ledge to look over the city.

"Utopea, July 17 2076! Retrieve escaped property, return to the employer!"

Tracer continues babbling along on the roof, mostly to herself in the future. She finds recording these to be therapeutic.

Her private recordings from her solo missions always consist of her false-chipper and witty commentary on the job at hand.

With little left to say, she stows her recorder, and dons her cold mask as Tracer once again.

The mission ahead of her ready to be finished.

\-----

Recomissioned Military Training Base. 5 years ago.

"Oxton! Keep up!"

The pack of soldiers trudged ahead without stopping, leaving the last alone in their dust.

"Oxton, wake it up!"

The last soldier in the line, ruining her uniform with a sling across her arm and a chip on her shoulder, begrudgingly trudges along, catching up with the pack.

Another near the back slows down, closing the gap between the two troops.

"Aye Oxton."

No response but a loud huff.

"Look, I know you're still mad about the stun ball course..."

"It's... not... that..." She responds, now gesturing with her head to her backpack.

"What..."

"Weights."

"Are you bonkers?!" The first soldier asks, bewildered. "You start training wounded, don't go a week without getting smashed, AND THEN! You mess yourself up MORE"

The last soldier nods with a bit of a shrug.

"Why're you truckin' so hard?"

"Don't know. The world is big."

"Guess that's a better answer than a passive aggressive stare down." The soldier responds with a giggle, before sprinting ahead. "See ya later then!"

Amèlie makes a small grunt in effort and keeps up to her friends speed.

"Guest later is now then!"

With friendly competition on the air, the two take off at top speed to the front of the pack, determined to win at their silent game.

\-----

Gibraltar, private meeting room. Present day.

Three hands tap impatiently at the long meeting table.

All Widow knows is that she's not the only one in the room feeling the awkward air.

As far as Widow is concerned, Ziegler is the only threat in the room. But, these other players.

Gabriel Reyes.

Ana and Fareeha Amari.

Torbjörn Lindholm.

And finally to cap off the high school reunion, Jack Morrison.

Reyes, Morrison, Amari Major all have masks and helmets to conceal their identities. As the room is filled with old friends and family, it's certain that the masks don't work.

"So, Morrison." Widow leans forward to start awkward conversation.

"I'm not Morrison." He responds, already annoyed.

"Could have fooled me, old man." Chimes in Fareeha.

"Oh? Are you so easily fooled? Little one?" Ziegler answers.

"You don't get to talk here, monster!" Morrison shouts, slamming a fist to the table as he stands.

Widow let's out her held breath. The tension in the room is almost physically VISIBLE now.

Widow, strangely enough, seems to be the only one without a target on her back. Even Lindholm seems to forgive her for their little scuffle in Amsterdam.

The big door at the end of the room abruptly opens with a loud boom, revealing the big ape himself, Winston.

"Hello! I'm sure you're all curious as to why you're here!" He declares in a chipper tone.

"Omnic crisis part two: electric boogaloo?" Answers Fareeha, with a flare of her brow.

Reyes makes a subtle grunt to stop Ana from making a comment, or a full blown scene.

"Though that is one of the main parts, we need to go over the recall." Winston continues as he moves a large industrial tire from the corner. 

"Our recall roster makes up for at least three times the agents that are present," he sits on top of the tire, making himself comfortable.

"Either they're scared, or... busy." Adds Reyes, who up until now has been silent.

"Yes. It goes without saying that we should check in with them, see if they actually answered or..."

Torbjörn makes a small grunt. "Or they were KILLED." He torbled. 

Winston recoils at the thought, "Yes, well. We still need to check in, just in case."

Ana, finally not staring daggers at Ziegler-like the rest of her team- chimes in. "Who else responded to the recall? What do we have to work with."

\-----

300m above an undisclosed location. 5 years ago.

Amèlie sat quietly buckled into her seat.

Not a word was shared between her and the other passengers.

The whole of the ride felt suffocating.

A sudden halt to the airships engines sends the troops into action. All six rush to clip into parachutes and ready their gear, helping each other into readied stances.

"Alright, lads and ladies! The engines are dead and we're in free fall, we'll be over the target in 10!" The captain shouts over comms, then smacks a button to open the back hatch.

One soldier taps the Amèlie's shoulder to get her attention. "You're on me this time, sis! Just like at Concourse 13!"

Amèlie offers a small smirk and a nod. "Maybe this time you'll land on your feet, though!" She quips.

"Jump! Go. Go. Go."

On command, all six HALO jumpers send themselves flinging into the black cloudy sky.

With air and clouds rushing past her helmet, Amèlie feels as airy and weightless as the clouds around her.

"Five seconds."

The clouds part from around the falling crew of soldiers, revealing the city below. In particular, the red highlighted building that makes for the teams landing zone.

"Ok, one shot at this everyone! Three! Two!"

Without another word, the first three burst through a window on an unlit floor. Then the two, then the last.

The team stands to look about through their recon visors.

An ugly white and gray office building with thick support pillars and plenty of furniture.

The HALO jump is a success, but the seven have no time to celebrate. Despite the impossibility of the task.

"Hunt, clear hall, then elevator. We can't let them know we're here." The captain orders, sending the third pair. "Silverman, Baker, find a way up, clear it." She continues.

Amèlie shifted slightly, already knowing where she's going, but waiting on the order.

Hunt clears the elevator, then turns. The elevator dings, then start on its way to a upper floor.

"Oxton and Gould, down the other hall, clear and return."

Without delay, the two jolt forward like clockwork into motion down the empty hall.

Cracked door left, empty.

Doorless door way on the right, empty.

Metal door, end of the hall.

"Oxton, I'm front, but you switch and ram."

"Right." Amèlie responds, moving toward the metal door without question.

"Three. Two. One. Go."

With a swift quiet kick, the door flings open revealing a desolate efficiency apartment. The kitchenette sink still running, but the inhabitant nowhere to be seen.

Amèlie rears her head to her radio, "We've got company," a sound behind the two sends them both into defensive stances, and turning back to the door. "Possibly headed your way. Over."

The radio chirps, "Copy, regroup and--" No more is heard before gunfire sounds down the hall.

"Gould! Let's move!" Amèlie shouts with an abrupt leap to the door. 

"Rollin!" Her partner answers, hurriedly following suit.

The two charge down the hallway to see an unarmored omnic wielding a cheap but powerful rifle. Two more reveal themselves and hail bullets on the trapped crew.

The radio chirps once again, "Oxton, no smoke or flash, swing and grapple!"

On command, Gould and Amèlie both make to the omnic flanks and hold.

"Alright everyone, weapons hot, open up!"

With the order given, the entire team reveals themselves from cover spraying bullets here and which way.

The omnics start buckling beneath the punishment, before retreating back down to the opposite hall.

"Gould, Silverman, shake em out! Oxton, Baker, mop up!"

Amèlie holds to switch her pulse rifle from fully auto to semi. Her partner dashes past her, to draw out the targets for the marksman.

With a few shots and a thrown dummy grenade, the team goads the omnics from their position.

In coordination with each other, the omnics rise from cover. Ready to bring down atleast two or three of the human team.

"You can't hide from my sight." Amèlie whispers ever so quietly as one, two, and three shots ring from her rifle in quick succession, sealing the omnics fates.

Before another order is issued, the elevator dings again.

All heads turn and each team member readies into stance.

The footsteps that start departing the elevator are slow and heavy. Very, very, heavy.

The team repositions into more covered spots and get better shots.

The slow footsteps reach the corner from the elevator dock.

Gould twitches slightly, Amèlie shifts uncomfortably.

A mass of metal and weaponry peers it's head around the corner, locking in its targets.

"BASTION!" The captain yells, gesturing for Baker and Silverman to dash right to another spot.

"Hunt! Swing left and go for a miss! Oxton--" The Bastion unit charges and slams the captain against the wall behind her.

It rears it's head to seek the rest of the crew, all of which are already in positions surrounding it.

"Once it's clear of the captain, rip it up!" shouts Baker.

"Shit, IDIOT!" replies Silverman with a bark.

With that in mind, the omnic reaches down to the captains unconscious body. It's gun readies as the captain forms a shield in front of it. The machines weapon clicks up and happily opens fire into the hall.

"It's got the captain, back away," Orders Amèlie "I have got an idea."

The team retreats slowly back to the elevator dock, slipping past the war machines machine gun spray, using each little couch and door way for cover.

"What's the plan, Baguettes?" Begs Silverman, earning him a glare.

"This," Amèlie replies, before shoving Silverman headlong into the elevator. She presses the button for one floor up, then let's him go. "Cover up." She whispers.

The rest of the small team follows her orders and finds a spot to hide, quietly slipping from sight behind silly hiding spaces. One behind the curtains, the other under the couch cushions, and Amèlie and Gould under a table behind the table cloth.

The Bastion makes its slow crawl to the elevator dock, still holding the unconcious captain hostage.

It notices the elevator in use, deducing that the team abandoned it's leader.

It decides to drop the leader onto the floor, leaving her body to call the next ride.

"Now!"

The team all jump from there increasingly ridiculous hiding places to lay all fire into the omnic. They send it reeling into the elevator door.

It makes its attempt to escape through the elevator, only to be greeted by Silverman. Who gladly opens fire onto it as well.

With every last round pumped into the machine, it finally falls to the ground.

The crew continue into the elevator into the next floor, unconscious captain slung over Hunt and Goulds shoulders.

Amèlie peers down to her watch, "45 seconds," She looks about her team. It's possible. "We might do it."

The elevator halts, hacked from a distance.

Silverman draws a laptop from his pack and hands it to his compatriot. "Hunt, you're up."

"Can't promise you anything." She responds.

The elevator door opens, revealing nothing more than a tiny room with a podium in the middle.

The podium has nothing more than a small blue button.

With team in tow, Gould approaches and taps the button.

In a blink of an eye five omnics appear from cover.

"Cover up, sling and wing it!" Shouts Gould as she drags the captain to cover.

Each crew member moves to different spaced out cover spots. All attracting the attention of each omnic with spray after spray of pulse-munition.

With confusion on air the omnics don't know who or what to focus on, the captain, the acting CO, or each individual trooper.

In a final bid against the humans, the five omnics all take aim for the unconscious captain.

And just like last time, the marksman rises from her spot, Pulse rifle on single shot.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Five shots, five kills.

Amèlie stands from her cover, pleased at her work. She looks about her team.

"Show off." States Gould.

"I have no idea what you're meaning." replies Amèlie

"Don't give us that!" Adds Silverman

"Yea, share some glory, huh?" Continues Hunt. 

The team continues to complain about the unshaved glory as they nonchalantly turn to the button on the podium.

"Listen I'm just saying, that whole 'no one can hide from my sight' shtick can stay in training." Boasts Gould, earning a short laugh from the rest of the team.

"Again, Gould. Don't know what you could POSSIBLY mean." Answers Amèlie, stifling laughter slightly.

The captain stands again, holding her hand over the blue button, eyes locked on her watch.

Click.

"5.0001 seconds above the record time." She brags with a smirk. "Which make us..."

"THE BEEEESSSSSTTTT" Cries out Hunt, jumping into the air.

The entire crew devolves into cheer and shoulder bumps as the bell rings across the floor. The omnics stand back up, clapping for their human friends.

"Fireteam: Cavalry, Number One on UN special force of infiltration and intelligence," yells Silverman, "I see the headline now!"

"We don't get headlines, dunkass. We don't even exist." Answers Gould.

The captain makes her approach to her celebrating team, "Drinks're on Oxton tonight."

Amèlie let's out a defeated sigh.

"Don't give us that!" Hollers Hunt.

The captain nods, "That lone wolf crap could have lost us the record, drinks are on you."

With a scrutinised gasp, "I already told you I have no clue--"

Gould punches Amèlie hard on her arm, stopping her mid sentence, "C'mon frenchie! Let's get hammered!"

The team vacate the building with messages flashing overhead reading: TRAINING SIMULATION COMPLETE. RECORD SET.

\-----

Gibraltar. Present day.

 

Widow rubs the temples of her head.

Ten minutes.

They just had to have ten minutes.

She redirects her attention to the scene in front of her.

The front half of the meeting table has been flipped on its side, half of the chairs are also on the floor.

Reyes is choking Torbjörn while Morrison watches doing what could be confused as a cheer.

Ana and Fareeha are bickering about family matters, but are making up with heartfelt apologies.

At some point, Star DJ Lucio Correia Dos Santos, and master strategist Hana 'D.va' Song had arrived, on request of Fareeha.

Ziegler had been saying something low and whisper-y into Widow's ear, but Widow had been concentrating on her migraine to actually hear it.

Winston waddles over to Widow, folder in hand.

"You can pursue this at your leisure, Lacroix. Be safe though, he's unpredictale."

With the commotion still flooding around them, Widow takes the file.

"Anything to get out of here."

She stands and walks out of the room, ignoring whatever Ziegler had been saying entirely.

She opens her folder to reveal in bold letters, TALON PRIVATE BRIEFING, EYES ONLY. ACQUISITION OF RAMPANT PROPERTY, UTOPEA.

"Why is everything a show with them?" She asks herself as she starts he walk back to the hangar, disregarding everything that's happening behind her. Even doing her best to ignore EVERY word from Ziegler's mouth. She won't fall for any of that again.

She rolls her assignment over in her head. The battle in London still fresh on her wounds, doubt fogs ever so slightly over her.

Her long strides are stopped by a small hand at her arm.

"We're gonna go with you."

D.va and Lucio.

"Big guys orders, guess he's boss around here."

Widow looks them both up and down. Young, inexperienced, naive.

They're perfect.

"Be ready within the hour, bring a bucket. I'm not a good pilot."

With her only needed words spoken, she turns on her heel to find the hangar with her plane.

The two younger heroes give each other a worried glance. Maybe going with Ma might have been a better plan.

\-----

Utopea.

Tracer makes her stalk across the streets of Utopea, unseen and blended in.

She tucks herself into an alley, certain she isn't being follower.

She flicks open her recorder.

"UUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH... GGHH. I've been looking for atleast an hour now, and nothing. Am I just being impatient? It doesn't usually take this long. Im. Getting. Bored." Click.

Another short blurt into her recorder to vent, and she's ready to go again.

"They could have sent two or three more pairs a boots, spread us out."

A loud stomp behind her snaps her out of her self venting trance. She whips about, guns already drawn.

"That is why they sent me." A booming, rough yet gentle German accented voice answers from the dark of the unlit alley. 

"If the men up above knew you were talking to yourself..."

"You'd never, you love me!" Answers Tracer.

The enormous shadow thinks it over.

...

...

"Yes, I can tolerate you." He responds before stepping into view, Reinhardt Wilhelm standing almost seven feet tall towers over Tracer even when unarmored.

"Good to see you, Big Guy." She starts, slipping into her false monotone voice.

"I've read the brief and know who we are looking for. I will lurk behind you, as I catch too much attention."

Tracer nods, stowing her weapons and readjusting her coat over the rest of her arsenal.

"Let us find this missing property."

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayy welcome back to 'erratically updated poorly written fic pt. 2 Battle Tendency'
> 
> it's been 3 months THREE.
> 
> as punishment I'll now walk on hot coals.
> 
> (but really I'll probably just pump out like three chapters by next week, so stay tuned?)
> 
> EDIT: HOLY SHIT I FORGOT I WROTE 'He torbled' FOR A TORBJÖRN LINE


	8. A Story About The Road To Hero Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amélie spins a tale, and has a reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about taking so long with this one, I've been writing nonstop for d&d about 250 pgs in a solid copy book. (Maybe 80,000 words)
> 
> im also gonna go through and update the timeline real quick

London, England 6 Years Ago

The world spun and shook. The ground moved beneath her feet.

From every direction the sky burned red and smoke replaced the clouds. Bullets whizzed through the air, and red stained mud pulled against the hero's boots.

A sniper three stories up, three heavy guns down the line. We might not be enough.

"Yo, Baguettes." Gould. For a split second Amèlie had lost herself across the field. No matter what though, her earned nickname from training always calls her attention.

"You know I hate it when you all call me that."

"If we make I outta this," Gould almost sounds worried. "You wanna talk about a Real nickname?"

"How bout' 'The Legs'?" Continues Silverman.

She knows. The crew likes picking on one another when times are rough.

"Aye share the spotligh, silverfish!" Mocks Hunt.

They've been at it since 0800 and it's 1740. It's bad.

"But anyway, I was thinking a asking you if after this-" An explosion knocks Gould from her balance. 

"We got incoming!" The captain. "We got our job, let's go!"

\-----

A quiet, awkward plane ride being exactly what it is, Hana had nothing else to do but sit and twiddle her thumbs.

She looked about the cabin, loose ends and random bits here or there.

Lucio already asleep, tired from jet lag.

She readjusts to see the pilot.

Quiet and unnerving, what's she thinking about?

Hana shifts onto the passenger side seat of the front, barely jostling Lucio as she passes.

"I'm sorry about the turbulence, Winston is only borrowing me this one." Starts the pilot, her voice just barely a whisper. "I do know how to fly, but a new plane is always difficult at first try."

"No, uh." Hana starts, thrown off slightly. Ma warned her about this one. The spider, or whatever she called her. "We're fine, Lucio sleeps like a rock." She answers, gesturing to her companion.

The pilot simply nods, and continues focusing on the clouds and winds.

Hana's confounded, she's nice? Ma told her to hold the pilot to the standard of one's like Ziegler or Morrison. But she's nothing like them.

She's practiced, trained, yet borderline... kind.

"You seem to have a few questions. I'll answer as best as I can."

Hana's eyebrows raise, she didn't even move her eyes from the sky. "Are all of those stories true?"

The pilot turns her head, ever so slightly. "Which ones?"

"C'mon, you know. The year long exile stuff, that stuff with that Dwarf Man and his Accidental Robot Army. The desert? The one hundred days wa--"

The pilot cuts her off with a finger, not a fast and commanding one, but a calming and quieting one. She starts on her FieldKit, tapping in the coordinates to Utopea. In a quick movement, the steering column folds inward leaving rooms for the pilots propped up legs.

"If you actually want to know, I won't withhold much. If we are to work together we must trust eachother after all."

"Wait... really????" Asks Hana, dumbfounded by her willingness to tell her anything at all.

"Yes, but one 'story' at a time."

":3"

"... Did you just audibly say 'three face'?"

\-----

"Gould! Let's move those charges! A GT-66 is on our tail, we can't wait for a second!" The captain shouts, shaking our hero from her stupor. "Oxton, you're with Gould, we'll play decoy while you two move the charges up to Kings Square, got it?"

"Break." The entire team answers in response.

"Let's take back the ol' home plate, shall we?"

Gould and Oxton tear off into the rubble, just in time to avoid the prying eye of an enormous siege tank.

"Boss! GT is on us!"

Oxton minds her footing as the gunfire starts up behind her. With Gould in tow, the objective is...

What.

Gould speeds slightly to get next to Oxton. "You forgot where we're going."

"No, I just need."

"Trust me. It's alright, I've got us." She interrupts, giving a reassuring nod. "And I won't tell captain if you-"

An omnic smashes through a wall, sending Oxton across the beaten path. Gould rears up, weapon lined.

Oxton grabs her by her armor collar and the two tear off into another shop across the way for cover.

"That could have gone awful, thanks," admits Gould. "What's the play?"

Oxton holds out her FieldKit, reading for a shorter path. The omnic opens fire into the pairs cover. "We lead it into here, trap it with these," She draws a few magnet grenades. "And mad scramble to objective A."

"Great plan, I'll go first." 

Before either can rear to start into action.

"Hello?" a family. Mother, two kids. "Why did you lead it here?"

Both are dumbstruck. They didn't expect survivors.

"Can you help us?"

The omnic draws closer, seeing now it's targets and new prey.

"New Plan!" Shouts Oxton as she leaps to shut the family back in the cupboard from where they came. "No time."

She tosses a magnet grenade at the approaching hulk of steel. The bot is pulled to the side, giving chance for Amèlie's sidearm to hit home.

Gould whips up from the rubble wall, rifle blazing into action.

Gould stares for a moment, admiring Oxton. "Ok, let's go. We're behind sch-"

"We can't leave them."

"I know, but we have to get to that artillery station or any chance for a ground game is toast."

Amèlie opens the cupboard, hands the mother her FieldKit, "Please come with us. I will find you a new hiding spot. Then we'll come back for you all later."

The radio line hisses awake. "Oxton, helm cam reports that your gonna do something dumb. You don't have time to drag along civilians. Your job is too important."

"Not as important as them." She replies, taking her earpiece out. "Let's go."

\--------

"What happened next did you get them to safety?"

The plane teeters slightly to the left. Amèlie takes the yoke and corrects the course.

"We must have some drag."

"DID you save them?" Asks Lucio, now in Hana's spot with Hana herself strewn across the dash board.

"Yes, I was just getting to that."

The plane shifts again, calling Amèlie back to the yoke.

"I will have be distracted with this so I may miss some details. But where was I?"

\---------

The five scramble from alley to alley, avoiding as many Null Sector troops as possible.

Duck.

Run.

Duck. 

Run.

Jump. One at a time.

Hold the daughter.

Run.

"Oxton, we're a few hundred meters off, we gotta unload this lot."

A small shop provides for safe cover, the five dash toward it, Oxton bursting a window to get in.

"This seems sturdy and hidden. The clay brick work could make for good thermal cover." Explains Gould.

The young son steps forward to a cracked open door. "Are you Overwatch?"

Oxton and Gould jolt into action.

"You knock I'll clear." The mother grabs her son, ready to run again.

"Three. Two. One."

The two burst through, rifles ready.

Inside are three agents. A doctor, a knight, and an engineer.

The first speaks up with a calming German accent "Ah, hello. Do you know where Kings Square is? We are lost."

The soldiers turn to each other, leaving their masks down. Objective A lies in Kings Square.

"What business have you, Overwatch?"

"An artillery piece on the north side of the square."

The soldiers turn to chatter quietly, calling over radio.

"Boss. Overwatch has got business on Objective A do we move to assist."

The radio whines awake, "Do whatever you can to get to the point, Oxton. They'll be helpful along the way."

"Will you help us?"

The soldiers turn to the crestfallen agents.

"Yes."

\--------

Hana perks up, knowing where this part of the story is going.

"That's when you--"

The planes left wing shifts fully downward, sending Hana off of her laying position.

Lucio draws a small speaker gun, ready for battle. "Are we under attack?????"

Widow stands slowly. "No. I think I just picked up my fourth pasenger."

She walks as calmly as she can to the back cabin door.

"Aye what's happening????? >:?"

"She just couldn't be patient." She presses down a button, opening the hatch.

The wind howls as the hatch opens, the night sky's clouds billowing aside the speeding jet.

Hana clings to a hang down handle shouting out her question over the wind, "Who is it?"

Her answer is quickly found as 'Dr.' Ziegler lands knee first onto the rear door. Her tail coiling in the cold air.

The purple flame centered between her horns flickers side and side, growing larger as the light of her wings dims away.

She whips her head up, hair tossed to the, and stands. "Hello dear, I tried calling but your sound must be off~!"

She brushes past leaving a purple peck on the detectives cheek, "Close the door, my sweet. There's a draft." 

The detective rolls her eyes across the entire airship. 

Hana and Lucio are both scrunched into a battle stance.

"Ziegler's here." Widow whispers, then smacks the hatch button.

\-------

Among things Amèlie didn't expect, was that she'd be working with Overwatch. Gérard never involved civilians in operations before.

"It's funny how the world works." She whispers, barely audible.

"What was that?" Asks Gould.

"Nothing."

All that remained of the team now is the doctor, two soldiers and the old knight. Torbjörn remained behind to protect the civilian family.

"The square is just ahead," whispered Angela as she crept around a corner. "We need to access the terminal near the artillery station."

"We'll get you there, then steer clear, our charges have a bit of a radius." States Gould, patting the pack at her side. "Right Baguettes?"

Amèlie spares only a nod, before refocusing on the objective.

Null Sector. A swarm of cutter drones and a legion of troopers too big for just a four man team. 

'A plan. I can take a rooftop and mark a few while Overwatch makes their objective. Gould will have to hang back and--'

 

A very very... very loud voice cuts off Amèlie's thought. "Ok times up. We do it my way," the knight. Reinhardt Wilhelm. "LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"WHAT DO WE DO?!" Shouts Gould, turning to Angela.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEROOOOOO" Reinhardt engages his armor jets, flinging into battle with the omnic forces.

Angela turns to Gould, shrugging and holding a little gun.

" OOOOYYYYYYY JENKIIIINNNNS" The Knights first hammer swing sends seven omnics flying into their doom.

Amèlie takes to her better mind, dragging Gould to turn around, and up a flight of stairs and up to the roof.

"COME, FRIENDS! WE GO TO GLORY!"

Angela follows behind, picking the aprt omnics that Reinhardt leaves behind. Not worrying about Reinhardt for now.

\------

The doctor is staring. Intently.

"What?" Asks the detective.

"Oh, nothing. I was just admiring you," She answers with a sigh. "What a gallant hero you are, complete with stories." She continues, smirking slightly.

"Can we not have this back and forth right now?" She asks, gesturing to the new blood agents in their seats.

Hana chimes in, a mischievous smile growing, "Don't worry about us, bicker with your ex."

Ziegler let's out a small chuckle, her tail coiling to a loud snap. "Anyway, why don't you fast forward this story to your little detective agency? I LOVE hearing about you and that little redhead and those little mysteries you'd solve."

Widow pinches the bridge of her nose, something mixed with irritation boiling in her gut.

Only a few more hours until drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, roast me for any mistakes/shit story!
> 
> I appreciate you all more than y'all know!


End file.
